Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
by Tassos
Summary: Farscape x Stargate Atlantis: John Crichton falls down the rabbit hole. Again.
1. Part I

* * *

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow  
A Farscape/ Stargate Atlantis crossover 

Rated PG-thirteen-esque  
Diclaimer: I own neither Farscape nor Atlantis. John got lost again and I am simply helping along in his journey. Spoilers: Farscape seasons 1-3 through _Dog with Two Bones_. Stargate Atlantis general season 3.  
Set directly after the end of FS: DwTB

Summary: John Crichton fell down the rabbit hole. Again.

* * *

_"Screw your courage to the sticking-place,  
And we'll not fail."_  
_ Macbeth, 1.7_

Part I  
**Drifter**

Space. The final frontier.

The final everything.

Black. White. Stars. More black than white. Cold.

Damn it was cold. And John had a vague notion that the black he was seeing had more to do with the hunger and thirst – God, the thirst – and just maybe the fact that he couldn't hear the scrubbers anymore than the lack of anything bigger than space dust outside the module. Huh. Maybe there were dust bunnies.

_Easter dust bunnies. Hop of the resurrection!_

Shut up.

What John wouldn't give for an egg right now.

_Red one under the hibiscus. Black gloved hands crumble the shell. Red stained so deep the white is pink underneath._

Hell, John'd eat it raw. Runny. Liquid. Just one drink, that's all he wanted.

Light. Huh.

* * *

Land was rushing toward him. There was something he was supposed to remember about the atmosphere. 

_Angles, John, angles. Double, double, toil, and trouble._

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

_Witches float and witches burn. Of course if they were witches, they would save themselves with magic and no one would ever know._

Landing a ship, not facing the Inquisition.

_Ah, crashing._

John pulled up, shallowing his descent so he wouldn't char broil. When he broke into the troposphere, he blinked. That was a lot of land. He couldn't feel his fingers, but he didn't crash. Ha.

_Open the hatch._

Oh. Good idea. How did that work, again? Frell it.

He popped the top and felt warmth and fresh air for the first time in eternity. John closed his eyes.

_There is water to the north_

Just five more minutes.

* * *

The water felt good. Sweet. John wasn't sure how he got there. There was grass and a few trees starting to turn into fire. The breeze felt like a caress. 

Not going there.

John wasn't sure how there was a planet at all actually.

_Wormhole._

Oh, yeah. It'd been pretty. Like an iceberg. So where was here?

_The map crinkled on the hood of the car and the popup planet didn't want to stay up. Hmmmm. I think we need to find a gas station and ask for directions._

You do that. John rolled over and closed his eyes again. His stomach rumbled, but he almost didn't mind. He watched the dots chase each other behind his eyelids. Maybe one would turn into a star.

He didn't sleep but when he opened his eyes, there was a person leaning over him. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown clothes. Hi. The person took his hand off John's neck and smiled. John remembered that he had to open his mouth to speak. He remembered that he was probably in danger. He remembered that he had a gun. He forgot to care.

* * *

When he woke, John had a headache but felt much better anyway. The grit was gone from his eyes and his arms and legs didn't feel like three Gs were pulling them down. He smelled a fire and, oh God, was that meat? His mouth watered at the thought and it didn't take long for him to decide that food was way better than a warm blanket at the moment. If only his feet would work the right way and quit getting caught up in the sheets. 

The noise and strangled curses only served to attract attention, however, bringing a young woman into his corner of the tent. She left again without a hello, though. John sniffed his armpit and quickly jerked his head away. No wonder. But then she was back with a bowl, a steaming bowl, and John couldn't help staring. She batted off his attempts to grab the spoon out of her hands and fed him herself. There were words. John didn't pay attention.

Hot broth.

_Chicken soup. Harvey was wearing an apron and a smug expression. The kitchen around him was white and a mess._

John couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten real meat. They were tiny chunks, and the girl only let him have two before pushing him back. She said something like more later.

His belly was warm. John said, "Thanks."

There was a nap and two more feedings before John had to pee. The girl got the guy who'd found him to help. There were names. Listan and Grogoro. They were Fishtari or something that sounded like it went with tartar sauce. John looked longingly at the fire as they passed, ignoring the curious looks of children and dogs. And everyone else. There was a spit, and what he wouldn't give for a good bar-b-que.

_Baked salmon and potato salad. And we should fry pigs feet! The smoke from the grill was tantalizing. John leaned over and took a deep breath and smelled smoked hickory and wosteshere._

Chitlins, John sighed with nostalgia. Cold beer.

His muscles ached from not moving for days, from avoiding a crash landing, and from whatever he'd done since then. Which he didn't think was much besides salivate and sleep. He wondered how long it had been. Do you know?

_The grandfather clock struck two in the nursery. Time is relative, John. And your biological clock has a screw loose._

He made it back from the tree with only Grogoro's hand under his elbow. This time he got to sit by the fire and feed himself what Listan gave him, which wasn't much to start with. It was a little awkward, but no one pressed him to talk with his mouth full. He was halfway through and on the road to full when he finally noticed that everyone was sebacean.

He put aside his plate. "Uh, hi." His throat felt better, like it would stay open and work. Listan and Gorgoro smiled, genuine and pleased. The others around smiled, too.

"Hello, stranger," said Listan. Her voice was familiar from before. "You look much better. What's your name?"

John smiled reflexively. He was unknown. He was probably on the far side of the universe. "John."

* * *

John was with the Fishtari for two days. Once his voice was outside his head, it was like a cloud lifted. Listan turned out to be Gorgoro's daughter, seventeen, and with room to spare since her brother had been culled. John wasn't sure what that meant but it looked like he was supposed to. From Listan's face, her brother was as good as dead. 

Gorgoro didn't have a good answer for where he was. But the food was good, and John was still too exhausted to do much more than sleep and take short walks around the village. Most of the others smiled pleasantly but didn't make a move to talk with him. John didn't have the energy to try to start up conversation.

He found out what 'culling' meant when he was ripped out of dreams of a red wedding into the reality of screaming. And high speed buzzing, and crashing, and Listan rushing in and shouting, "we must run!"

John fumbled for pants and boots and the bundle that were jacket and Winona and raced after her, panting within twenty steps. Adrenaline met the chaos outside and only staved off panic because John figured he was immune to it by now. People were running and screaming and tripping over tent pegs looking for cover in the trees while beams of light swept over and disappeared them. Listan was tugging on his arm to get him to move from the beam moving toward them.

John stared. "You've got to be frelling kidding me." But really, this was him. His brain caught up a second later and he dove with Listan out of the way. The beam followed, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor of a smelly room with a whole lot of other people, including Listan who had tears streaming down her face.

"Ancestors protect us," she whispered. Everyone was whispering, horror written on their faces. Mothers held onto children, husbands tried to shelter them with despair in their eyes.

"Listan. Listan, what's going on?" John crouched beside her and pulled her close. She held on, scared.

"We have been culled." Her fingers gripped his arms painfully. "We have been taken by the Wraith."

"Wraith." That did not sound pleasant.

"The Wraith cull their human herds. They feed on our life." She said, recited really, and then collapsed forward onto him sobbing. "We will die." Did she say human?

_I think we should be more concerned with the threat of becoming foodstuffs. Harvey pushed his shopping cart into the frozen food section. You never told me your species has a natural predator._

You mean besides you and Scorpy?

_John, really. We're trying to save us all from utter annihilation at the hands of the Scarrens._

John snorted. Looks like I'm going to be a lunchable first. Crackers, cheese, ham. Maybe chocolate. Thinking about food made him hungry. He wondered if humans tasted like chicken.

He didn't get a lot of time to ponder it because there were footsteps in the hall, then the grosteque, Leviathan-like doors opened and white guys with dreads and no faces walked in. There were a lot of them and they had sticks and started dragging a Fishtari woman out. Listan held on tighter and John watched as two men tried to fight only to get knocked back violently. One of the other Wraith grabbed the man closest to him and clawed his chest, and before his eyes, John watched skin turn spotty and thin, wrinkles form and hair fall out and gray. They fed on life, and John was watching as life left the poor man, painfully, awfully, and he'd still be ruined if it ended now.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey you!" The Wraith looked at him, and before John really thought about it, he tumbled Winona free from his jacket and shot him in the face. Immediately, two things happened. First, John had a thought that that was probably not the smartest thing he could have done. Second, the other Wraith turned on him and shot him with their sticks. And it hurt like hell. So John passed out. There was screaming in the background.

* * *

There was a hand on his chest when he woke. Fingernails were digging through his shirt, five little holes in the fabric. There may have been blood. John didn't open his eyes to check because, the way his week was going, he really didn't want to know. Am I old? 

_Interesting._

Harvey!

_No. He was in an office in a white lab coat, a skeleton on the wall and pictures of human anatomy all over the walls. A top was spinning in the corner. There is a reaction that should be taking place but isn't._

What? John opened his eyes and came face to face with bad breath and white hair. "Whoa! Up close and personal."

This Wraith had a face. With lots of teeth. Scars on his cheeks too, but John was more worried about the more traditional methods of eating people at the moment.

"Hi."

The Wraith growled. "It speaks."

"Uh, yeah." The words had barely left his mouth when other hands grabbed him and flipped him over. His shirt was ripped off and something cut into his back. "Aaaahhhhrhr!" This time John screamed and screamed as fire poured out from between his shoulder blades. Then he lost consciousness, like a light switch flipped off.

* * *

When he woke again, John was starting to get pissed off about all the manhandling. I have had it up to here! 

_John strode into the waiting room in a purple polka dotted patient gown and glared at Harvey._

What'd they do to me?

_Harvey stood up with his stethoscope hanging from where his ears would be. They implanted something in your back. The stethoscope was cool where he placed it against the skin that still burned. A transmitter. John twitched away, looked down at himself, and grimaced. _

No underwear?

He was back on the planet again. The trees were still turning in the autumn breeze. John was hungry and tired and his back hurt. Most of all he was sick of the universe frelling with him. He sat with his knees propped and his head in his hands for a long time trying to forget that this was reality, and why the hell the Wraith things put a tracker in his back when they couldn't suck the life out of him. For the first time since this all started, John felt the crushing loneliness and the heart ache that went with it. This is what it would have been like, if it hadn't been for Moya way back when. This was what should have happened. He was on the far side of the universe where humans lived and Wraith ate them. No friends, no friendly escaped prisoners, no Aeryn. Just John and the giant rabbit in his head.

He wished he were crazy enough to lie down and never get up again.

But John did get up. And he walked through the grass and fields to where Harvey said his module was. He found the village on the way, deserted, like a ghost town, only the ghosts were on a ship high above him. It was a village frozen in time. Tarps and weaving were still waiting for the morning, ground flour waiting to be baked, balls waiting for small hands and feet. John took what he could – waterskin, rope, candle – feeling like a grave robber but not knowing when he would find food again. He saved Gorgoro and Listan's tent for last.

He looked over the pots and jars of preserves sitting neatly in the large basket by the small fire pit. The bedrolls and blankets where they'd slept, where he'd recovered from almost dying. The bead work that strung from post to post that Listan had worked on while they talked.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and left.

The module was unrecognizable. A blackened egg, cracked in two and incongruent with the bright grass of the field around it. Inside smelt of burnt plastic and twisted metal. Even if he had the tools or parts, John didn't think he could have repaired it. As unfixable as he was lost.

What now?

But Harvey didn't have any bright ideas either.

* * *

The Wraith did. At least that was what John figured when they came back, beat the crap out of him, and led him to a big circle in the middle of nowhere. One of them hit some things on a smaller thing making machines rumble and a sideways water spout. John was in too much pain to care. So when they threw him through the puddle in the circle, he landed on the other side of somewhere thinking about tweetle beetles to avoid having to make sense of anything. 

Harvey was greatly amused and rode the wrong sock-wearing fox for a few hours before John told him to shut up and go away. He tried to take stock, see what he had. He had his jacket, but no shirt, Winona, but no food. He had a whole lot of bruises. He had Harvey, but he wasn't sure that was an asset. He wanted D'argo and his strength, and Chiana, and Pilot, and even Rygel. He wanted Aeryn. God, he wanted her here beside him, calm and solid, a shoulder to cry on. With her he could do this, whatever this was – he looked at the spring flowers on all the trees, the damp path from the circle, this other frelling planet.

"I hate you!" he screamed at the universe. "You think this is funny? You think twisting to see how much it takes to break me is hilarious? Well screw you!"

He pushed himself to his hands and knees. He wouldn't take this sitting down. He wasn't going to be frelled over by a sick universe. He wasn't going to let Aeryn run away from him, not pregnant. He was not going to roll over and be the whipping boy for a bunch of Goths on crack.

John pulled himself the rest of the way to his feet. Slowly, painfully. He'd been left behind before. He knew a little about keeping himself alive in the wilderness. The Boy Scouts were a long time ago but he could tie a knot better than Jimmy Rogers and he sure as hell could light a fire with Winona. Besides there was a road.

He would figure out what was going on with the Wraith and the transmitter, figure out how to make a wormhole to take him home, figure out how to find Moya and Aeryn.

There. Plan. First step. Road.

* * *

**Runner**

On the first day, John relearned what he already knew. Walking with bruises was better than moving after they had been sitting for a while. He also learned that not everyone around here was as nice as the Fishtari.

He found a village – houses here instead of tents – whose people met him with pitchforks.

_Ding dong, the witch is dead._

Not yet. And they're not midgets.

"That's far enough. What do you want, stranger?" the tallest of the men called out to him as he approached. John raised his hands and put on his best smile.

"Hey. Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I just need some help." He took a step closer.

"What sort of help?" The head honcho remained tense and wary.

"Well, I'm kinda lost," John admitted. "I got caught by the Wraith –" every person flinched and took a step back – "and they threw me through this circle thing to here."

"They let you go?" demanded Honcho. "You are a runner?"

"A what?"

Honcho exchanged a look with the man beside him then strode forward until he was ten feet from where John remained. "Why did the Wraith let you go?" Behind him, the other guy was whispering orders to the boys.

John shrugged. "I have no idea. They caught me with some people who were helping me out. They tried to eat me and when they couldn't, put a transmitter in my back and dumped me here."

Honcho closed his eyes and when they opened they held pity instead of fear. "Then you are not welcome here, Runner. Return through the Ring of the Ancestors. May their blessings be upon you." He gripped his pitchfork and hefted it in warning.

Runner from what? "Hey, wait! Are you saying, they're hunting me?"

Honcho nodded. "It is their way. Now leave us."

Two days later while John was staring at the circle thing wondering how it worked, he learned that Wraith hunted everyone he came into contact with too. John watched from a flowering dogwood as the village burned.

* * *

By the end of the first week, John had learned that the Wraith came in ones or twos or threes to hunt him down. He still couldn't figure out the circle thing and had less of an idea about where it might lead if he did, but by the time he killed the third and final Wraith of the second set he was more than ready to skip town. Being hunted had been bad enough when he was on Moya. Now, on the ground with one spare cartridge in his belt and a head shot the only thing that did the trick, John was getting pretty frelling pissed again. 

The day he called Sunday, he spent pushing buttons on the mushroom control thing by the circle thing. He and Harvey argued about the round thing in the middle until John finally hit the damn thing only to be surprised when it lit up.

_See? You really should trust me more, John._

"Yep. Because I don't have enough things to worry about."

_Which is why you need my help._

Oh, because you're always right?

_But of course. Harvey showed him his sixth grade report card with straight As._

That's mine.

_It all been downhill from there, I'm afraid._

John mentally flipped him off and thought about the universe. Planet to planet travel. He hit seven random buttons and the red one. Hello water spout.

John walked through without flinching.

* * *

By the end of the second week – three planets with five total moons – John learned that sanitary medicine and competent doctors were not to be found. That and his transmitter was buried in his muscles right next to his spinal cord, and thanks, he wanted to keep walking. 

He didn't stay long at the villages where he tried to get it out. He didn't announce his Runner status to them until he saw the doc either. Two of the villages threw him out when they found out. The last, gave him food, a shirt, and a sharp knife. John left the planets before he could find out their fates.

When he next declared Sunday, he was alone in the woods under a shelter he'd leaned together from deadfall. The day was late summer here, pleasant during the day but humid. He tried his hand at trapping a squirrel but ended up scaring them all away.

_That night Harvey roasted marshmallows over a fire in his Cub Scout uniform, Troop 358, while John stared up at the Milky Way. John told him the story of the Monkey's Paw and wondered if the child was his._

The Wraith found him at dawn, cornered him after a half-hearted chase to the other side of the clearing, and wanted to fight hand to hand with their stick stunners. John was going to pull an Indiana Jones until they shot his hand and both Winona and feeling out of it.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me! You want me to fight two of you bare handed?" He'd tried that before with one person, and only his size and surprise had ever given him an advantage for more than two microts. D'argo had put him in a _coma_. He was on a starvation diet. He couldn't help the laughter, he really couldn't.

_John, I really think you should take this a bit more seriously. Harvey rubbed his shoulders in their corner of the black and white boxing ring. In the opposite corner, the Wraith – one with a face – smiled with all his teeth showing. It was really starting to piss him off._

"Fuck this." He crouched in the ready position Aeryn had shown him the one time she'd deigned to teach him Pantak maneuvers.

_The bell rang, ding! Oh, dear._

It was over in five microts. Only the Wraith didn't stop pummeling him after the count. They left him alive again so John crawled into his shelter and fantasized about the purple leaves that were better than morphine. It wasn't long till he was imagining Zhaan there to take care of him. "I miss you," he told her through bloody lips.

She smiled sadly. "I am always with you." She smoothed back his hair like his mom used to when he was sick, and John felt his gut ripped away and tears on his face.

_I am here, John. Sleep._

* * *

By the end of the first month, John learned to love his knife. He used it to notch wood for shelters that would hold together, to scrape against the piece of flint rock he finally found in the mountains where there were caves instead of woods. He used it to fashion the snares he set for small critters that he rarely caught, and to skin the snake that he did catch sunning on a rock. Who knew snake tasted pretty good. 

The Wraith still caught up with him if he stayed in one place for more than a few days. When they did, they either disarmed him and beat the crap out of him or eventually got a blast to the head. John's sixth sense about them was getting better – he listened when Harvey told him to listen.

His supply of chakken oil was what worried him. He had one spare cartridge in his belt. One. Sooner rather than later he would need another weapon, and as much as he loved his knife, she wouldn't be enough. He decided to risk a town when he decided to shave his beard. It itched, and a clean face would be more welcome.

_Soap and water would help. Harvey pushed him into the bathroom and dumped him clothes and all into the bath with the shower raining from above._

"I'll make an appointment at the spa. Maybe get a massage while I'm at it."

_Dead Sea Salts. I hear they're wonderful for you skin._

A little less scruffy looking, John hopped fourteen planets before he found one with a market. He had to be fast before the Wraith got a wiff of him. The circle of the Ancestors was on the edge of a bustling town whose market looked like it came from the Uncharteds, human style. He realized he didn't have any money about the time he smelled bread, and damn that sucked. He'd been eating rodents for weeks and bread smelled like heaven.

"Howdy," he said to the first folks he met who smiled and gave him wary space. Huh. John looked at himself and thought Peacekeeper, and took off his jacket. The linen shirt he'd gotten way back was more off-brown now than off-white but it was relatively clean. That better?

_If you call that civilized. Harvey sniffed like an English matron._

Harv, we've been living in the woods. I would call just about anything civilized.

He lifted a fruit from a cart while its owner's back was turned. It was crunchy and tart and the best thing he'd eaten since the snake. The market was mostly a Food World but there were a few wares, mostly cloth and pottery. John didn't get any weird looks. Weird was apparently in.

Between the market and the town proper he found a watering hole where scruffy men and townsfolk swapped news over a keg of what smelled like rotgut. They chattered about the storm season, and the Wraith cullings that were increasing, and the Lanteans who were making as much trouble as they were helping people out. The local equivalent of darts was going on to the side with knives and a lined board on the wall. John wandered over to join them. He watched for a minute before asking, "Hey, what's the stakes?"

He got a few looks up and down, nothing too hostile, and a nod from the last thrower. "What you got?"

"Got my knife." John patted Angelica that was tucked into his belt. The thrower studied him a minute more; John met his eyes and held them despite the smile he kept in place.

"All right." The thrower set five coins on the stool that served as a table.

They played three sets of five throws since that's apparently what you did when throwing knives against the wall. John sucked. After the first two throws, his opponent took mercy on him and told him to take a half step back so the pointy end of the knife would hit the board and not the hilt. He hit it four times. Predictably, he lost and lost bad. Putting a smile on over his embarrassment, he shook the thrower's hand.

"Can I convince you to swap my knife for my coat?" he asked as the next two contestants stepped up.

"I am Jaren, friend . . ." The thrower still held his hand.

"Crichton." John offered his bundled coat for inspection, and Jaren sucked in his breath.

"It is very fine." He fingered the leather shoulders as he shook it out to look it over. After a minute, he looked at John again, up, down, lingering on his face. "One knife is not enough for a coat such as this, friend Crichton," he said. Flipping the jacket over his arm, he reached for a stool and snatched up the coat lying there. It wasn't as long as his Peacekeeper jacket, ending at his knees instead of his ankles, but John felt that it was thicker as he accepted both it and Angelica from Jaren's hands. A tight woolen weave lined the roughly cured hide. "May the blessings of the Ancestors be upon you."

John held his eyes and saw sincerity. "Thank you."

"Practice with your knife, and come again. I'm sure you have an interesting tale to tell." Jaren smiled and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Oh, not that interesting." John shook his head. He wouldn't return. He'd probably condemned all these people to death already. He left the watering hole checking out the pockets of his new coat, and was startled to feel coins in one of the pockets. Three coins. He pulled them out and looked back at Jaren who looked up briefly with a small smile before turning back to his friends.

After John bought bread, fruit, and a knapsack and was heading back to the circle thing, he said, "You know one positive thing about this whole mess, besides no Scorpy on my ass? People look at a guy and see he's in trouble and help out."

_We've been kicked out of as many places as we've been welcomed. How is that different?_

"I didn't have to sell my soul."

_Harvey scratched his chin. But you sold the town._

John hit random combos of six on the 'shroom until one worked. When the spout had settled back he took one last glance at the market and the rooftops beyond.

"I know." He stepped through.

* * *

By the end of the second month, John had figured out catching squirrels beyond statistical probability. The trick was in putting his snare on tilted tree branches where the squirrel like things would run up to get into the tree. He figured out ground snares too with a running commentary from Harvey on how amazingly stupid many creatures were. John had a feeling he was talking about him, so he argued back that some of them were smarter than they looked. Unfortunately the argument was loud enough to scare away the squirrels, so there was no meat that day. 

Existence was falling into a routine, complete with hobbies and after-school activities. John stuck to nature when he arrived on a new planet. Steered clear of people where he could and left when the Wraith found him. New places he needed shelter, but John tried to spend the nights on planets that were warm. His new coat was warmer than his old one, and he stole a blanket from one village he passed where it was airing on a line. He avoided winter like the plague and left again if it was raining. Wet socks took forever to dry and his feet were already itching. Hunger was a constant companion between the nighttime chill and the difficulty he had hunting. It was better when he passed through farmland so he spent more time on those planets as well.

He practiced throwing Angelica, like Jaren suggested. There were a lot of hours to kill during the day, but John was still surprised at how fast he got better, both in accuracy and consistency. Harvey danced around as Errol Flynn for two weeks while he did until John gave in and made him change into Little John before reenacting the quarterstaff fight. It ended up giving him the idea of really learning to use one, but with no one to practice with except Harvey and trees, he quickly gave it up.

Life was quiet in the wilderness and as he got the hang of surviving until the next Wraith attack, John was starting to get bored. And idle thoughts led to thoughts of Moya, his friends, Aeryn. He wondered if D'argo had found Macton or was still searching, playing out the drama as if he were there watching. He thought about Rygel's quest to reclaim his throne, and Chiana's journey to find her brother, the frog prince and the little princess off on adventures. Mostly he thought about Aeryn and her Merry Men. He thought about the way her hair smelled, the pain in her eyes, the whisper of her voice. He thought about a child growing within her. He remembered kisses and nights, fantasized about taking her to the beach or Disneyworld.

Some days he didn't get up, it hurt so bad. Others he did everything he could to stop thinking. Some days were good. Not many of them.

Some days he thought about wormholes.

It was a little surreal, living as he did on land instead of in the emptiness of space and the songs of the black. Nevertheless, every time he approached the circle thing to move on, he couldn't stop the twisting numbers spinning like a top, too fast to know. When he stepped a hair's breath from the event horizon, he itched for a pen to write down what he felt on his skin in symbols and patterns.

Sometimes he scratched things in the dirt, but there was never enough time to do it all. The Wraith came, woke John by the stillness in the air. Sometimes he slid from wherever was home for the moment and lead them on a merry chase just to run. Sometimes he set up traps when he was feeling particularly creative. One time he shot one when it poked its head in his shelter. More often than not, he ended up in an unfair fight and got the crap beaten out of him. For some reason they kept up the catch and release and never killed him. John still hadn't figured that out.

_Training wheels. They practice hunting, and you are easy prey. _

"Funny, you never used to say that."

_Ah, but I was the trap, not the predator. Ice fields spread beneath Harvey's feet. John shivered and punched him in the face. It felt good enough to do again._

John was getting better; he had better timing, better blocks, better hits. But the Wraith were viciously strong and never stopped coming. Like clockwork.

Some days John slept the sleep of exhaustion. He always woke up sore and bruised and desperately hungry. Some days the pain was too great to sleep and he went off in his head after Aeryn. They were short trips and he almost always ended up telling Harvey another ghost story.

* * *

The third month, John learned that the Wraith could throw shadows of themselves. It was creepy and disorienting as hell until Harvey figured out how to tell the difference. 

_They are projecting the shadows to your brain and redirecting images in your optical cortex. The gravity lab was filled with wires every which way like a 3D spider web with Harvey turning in circles in the center with a flashlight, scanning the walls._

"They're reading my mind?" John spun around, hearing crackles of leaves and sticks all around but unable to pinpoint the source. They were out there. "I am so over this crap!"

_Not reading, projecting. But never fear. I'll have the aluminum foil ready in a minute._

"You know I never thought I'd say this, but that sounds like a real good idea. Anytime, would be great. You know, like now."

_I know this may come as a surprise, but your mind is not uncomplicated._

"Yeah, Wraith coming!"

_Spare me. Half the time you do not even bother to fight. You know what Freud would say about this?_

"I do not want to sleep with them."

_He vould say, that you haf a very ill developed sense of survival. You subconsciously want to die and sleep with your dead mother._

"I think you want to die and sleep with my mother – and quit bringing my mother up and fix my damn head!"

John still couldn't tell where the gaps were in the circle closing in around him. He could feel time slow down around him the way it always did in a fight.

_There. Bippity-boppity-boo._

With the three little words, John knew which shapes and sounds to ignore. He wouldn't have called it a conscious decision, he just knew. Winona was out in a second landing a perfect shot. A body hit the ground.

_Behind you._

John spun and fired twice into the other Wraith. "Thanks."

_I live here, too._

John checked the oil. Almost empty. Another week and Winona would be useless.

* * *

The fourth month, John learned that Harvey liked word games. They played them as they traveled and they traveled a lot with the loss of Winona. John still carried her, his last friend from home strapped securely and tangibly to his thigh. He was pretty good with Angelica now, but hesitant to lose her in a fight. 

He was still considered protected game by the Wraith, but each time they caught him was worse than the last. John hurt all over. He started setting up large squirrel snares to catch Wraith. He only caught one and took its stunner, but he hated the weapon. It didn't keep the Wraith down nearly long enough, a tool to capture, not kill, and John wanted the kill. He was getting sick and tired of the Wraith and their dreadlocks and their teeth.

"And what the hell do they need teeth for?" John fumed as he ran for the two giant stones where the trip wire was. The terrain was rough and his ankle hurt like hell. He'd only have a few microts after he stunned the Wraith behind him.

_Evolution, my dear Crichton._

"Well evolution has terrible fashion sense!" There they were. John hobbled over the trip wire made from a twist of a Wraith coat. Footsteps pounded behind him, and as he turned to face it, the Wraith ran over the trip wire without tripping. "Frell!" He fired the stunner and got a square hit that slowed the Wraith down enough for John to punch him in the face. Of course, the Wraith struck back. John dodged the first hit, not the next and went flying backward to land on every knarly pebble on the ground. By the time he pushed himself to an elbow there wasn't any time to run.

"Any ideas? 'Cause I'm out." He flopped on his back and stared at the sky until the Wraith loomed above him. "Can we skip the beating me to within an inch of my life?"

The Wraith kicked the stunner out of his hand. John closed his eyes and thought of Aeryn.

"What's a four letter word for 'don't frelling care anymore'?"

* * *

The fifth month, John learned that he didn't do smart things when he was drunk. Getting drunk in the first place was pretty stupid. And if he thought about it too hard, which was not the point of getting drunk in the first place, murderous on a large scale. 

John also learned that, despite getting his ass kicked on a regular basis, he was actually pretty good in a fight. Many of which he started while bitching about his life to the bottom of his mug of whatever poison he could find. His head was a dark mess of anger and memories. Pain was for the Aurora chair. Exhaustion was for turning into a statue. Hunger was for Keedva Bbq. Homesick was for Moya. And the broken heart was for Aeryn.

Aeryn who'd run off and left him. "And look what happened to me!" The other bar patrons shifted uncomfortably and tried to avoid his eyes. Stubble itched his cheeks and the glimpse in the well earlier showed that he needed a haircut. Maybe a shave to get rid of the fleas. "They come and they come and they come. How do you get rid of them?" he swung around and asked the bartender. "All we had to do was blow up a command carrier to get you off my back." John didn't notice the funny looks when he addressed Harvey.

_That's because you took your back to get an implant, John. Let's do Jello shots!_

"No. No Jello shots. I'm tired of always doing what you want. We are going to do what I want. And I want to find Aeryn, and my kid, and Aeryn. What the hell she leave me for? Miss Peacekeeper can't deal with you as not you. Fill her up." He shoved his glass at the bartender.

"I think my friend here has had enough." A heavy arm settled on John's shoulders. It took a moment to register and another to shake him off.

"Hey, paws off."

The man was grease slick hair with a bead of sweat on his forehead. He had an oily smile. "Why don't we step outside. Discuss your tab and anything else of vlaue." Snake Oil tapped his fingers on the hilt of a knife tucked into his belt while behind him two others stood carefully nonchalant.

John squinted. "You know I think I done this before. Only they were roofies and me and D ended up in fishnets. I'm pretty sure you're not pretty enough to go outside with."

_Tequila shots! Salsa music blared in the background._

"Harvey, would you keep it down! I'm trying to concentrate."

Snake Oil's face had shifted into something John was supposed to recognize. And he did when the fist came flying at his face. Luckily, John had had lots of practice dodging fists, so he did. Angelica came out of nowhere and then he was holding two knives and a body was on the floor.

Time froze.

Huh.

In the distance, the circle fired up. The top of spinning secrets hummed in counterpoint in the back of John's brain, and for the first time there was a shape. And an itch. John sneezed and heard

_felt_

the spout burst free. And then the Wraith were there. John stood still and ignored the hell breaking loose, like a rock in a river.

Words came, bubbling up from within. " 'I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not.'" John left the tavern, sober, and hugged his traded coat tight around his body. Culling beams and running people. Screaming to haunt his dreams. Calmly, crying, he walked through the street and down the road to the circle thing. The best place to wait was behind it.

* * *

By the end of the sixth month, John couldn't remember why he wasn't talking to Harvey. It had something to do with words exchanged during a drunken argument between them in a black and white pool room from the 1960's. John learned after his month of binge drinking that saturate the brain in enough alcohol and imprints of neural clones in your head get drunk too. And say nasty shit that has you starting a bar fight in your own head. John had a migraine headache for a week straight after that. 

The silence between them was deafening as it stretched over the first few days. John was too angry to speak, Harvey too stubborn. But the silence grated and Aeryn and nightmares were all too frequent. John started humming_ Hotel California_ just to hear his own voice again, and by the time he got through every Eagles song he knew, Harvey was playing drums.

They didn't speak to each other, but oddly, John felt less alone for the first time since falling out of the sky.

* * *

In the seventh month, John used Angelica and Whitney to take on a Wraith and win. He celebrated by declaring Sunday and stealing a loaf of bread before spinning the top to the next planet where he found the nearest stream and went for a swim. The cold water was heaven on his sore muscles. 

"So the next part is when the French are attacking." He hummed a phrase quietly. "They're sneaking up." He hummed the next one a bit louder.

_Harvey was in Napoleon's enormous hat and uniform with his hand stuck in under the flap. Cannons and soldiers in the blue, white, and red were all around. John got to ride the horse. Charge!_

"Then there's the Russian theme, which is them fighting back." He hummed what he could remember and let Harvey fill in the gaps. "You can't hear it in the piece, but it's General Winter and scorched earth that beat him back. Anyway, they fight and fight. St. Petersburg or Moscow, forget which, is pelted by bullets and cannon fire – which is in the overture too."

_Blasts all around. Body bits and shrapnel. And screaming, always screaming, until Harvey turned down everything but the orchestra._

"Boom, boom, boom!"

_Right on cue!_

"The Russians beat them back and Napoleon's off with his tail between his legs."

_The battlefield faded to black and the music pounded on, loud, then sweet. Triumphant. John had to catch his breath._

John floated on the water and let the lazy current wash away sweat and blood and tears. "Napoleon was one of the greatest military minds of humankind. The man was brilliant. If you had an army, he was first pick in the draft. But the Russians beat him. They burned their own city to the ground to smoke him out."

Talyn and Crais burned their city.

John smiled sadly at the sun above him. Strange sun. Strange world. But it was all becoming familiar now. It was time to find a place to settle in for the night.

* * *

The eighth month, John tried the quarter staff thing again. Three weeks in he could do Errol Flynn's moves with something less than grace. He also looked for paper or a notebook, but couldn't find a pen. 

The most surprising thing he did find though was a set of ruins with electricity. Two lights on the floor not made of dirt, wood, or stone. It was pretty cool, but none of the buttons on the walls did anything, so John just spent the night, and dreamed good dreams of Moya and Pilot.

In the morning when the light was better, he didn't recognize any of the symbols on the wall. Whoever they were, they were long gone. "Maybe they could have killed the Wraith."

_Maybe the Wraith killed them._

John left the next day, but now that he'd seen the ruins, he saw more on other planets. Not always, but sometimes. It was his new hobby. Hidden by caves, buried by hills, one even out in the open at the top of a mountain. John climbed it just to see what it held. It was a long, rocky climb, with twiggy desert trees hugging the hillside for what little dirt hadn't been blown away by the wind that caressed John's hair. So high up, he felt a freedom he hadn't felt since the last time he'd gone flying just for fun. The view was spectacular. The whole world lay before him.

He couldn't get the door open to the building, but it reminded him of an observatory and John made it to the roof with a bit of creative maneuvering. It was cold and by dusk he could see his breath on the air. That night, he didn't sleep but stared instead at the sky.

_Harvey lay beside him, huddled in his sleeping bag. Did you look up at your moon when your father landed on it?_

"Yes," John whispered. The stars were so clear here, but it was the two moons that captured his attention, side by side, one full, one gibbous. "1973. Last Apollo mission to the moon. They almost didn't go because of funding cuts. They landed at eleven forty four and I got to stay up late for it."

_A haze of long memory misted over them. John smiled when he saw himself sitting raptly in front of the television in his Batman pajamas._

"I was five. And I remember watching it on the tv, some news program going over highlights. They said, 'That's it, the _Phoenix_ has landed.'" John smiled again. "And my mom took my hand and pulled me to the back yard. She pointed up to the moon and said, 'Can you see your father, Johnny? He's up there right now.'

_Awe and wonder lit his boy face._

"And for a second I could."

Two moons shone down on him now. The aliens trying to kill him probably thought he was crazy, climbing a mountain. The aliens he loved would have done it with him, bitchin' and complainin' the whole way. Asking why they couldn't fly. They, like Earth, were out there somewhere. John missed them, deeply, desperately, John missed them.

_Harvey hummed a little. After a few bars he sang softly: He's the admiral of the ocean_, _The lone eagle in the sky, He gave me my first sextant, And he taught me how to fly, I saw him through my telescope, On a cloudless night in June, As he rested between voyages, At his beach house on the moon._

John wrapped himself in his blanket and the melody and didn't sleep till dawn.

* * *

The ninth month, John ran into a trader and learned a bit about interplanetary politics. Basically, it went like this: there were the Wraith and there were humans. Wraith ate humans, but hibernated for generations with only small cullings occurring here and there. Then a few years back, some dumbass wanted by the Genii woke them up early. Result: all you can eat buffet. The Genii never got explained and there were Lanteans and trade alliances mentioned, but by the time John went one way and the trader the other, he couldn't have spat it back out. John just felt sorry for the poor schmuck who woke the members of the bad dental plan. 

He did trade a Wraith stunner for a whetstone. Angelica and Whitney had been tetchy lately, and needed a little sharpening up. The trader didn't have pens though. John had a great piece of cloth he was saving up to write on and the lack of writing implement was frustrating. He'd tried blood, but decided it wasn't worth it and instead dialed planet after planet just to watch the wormholes form. Nothing much shook loose in his head that he could put together so in the end he just sneezed a lot.

When he wasn't staring at the circle thing, fighting Wraith, or arguing Star Wars trivia with Harvey – Han Solo shot first. Period. – he was writing letters in his head. Harvey made fun of him by taking them to Jane Austen England, but John just told him to shove it and put him in a dress with a corset so tight he couldn't speak.

He composed letters to everyone from Moya, and his Dad, filling them in on his little corner of hell. Of squirrels and hares and elephant snares. Of Goths with big teeth, and two knives and one sheath. Of ruins and dead, and the guy in his head. He wrote poetry when he was feeling particularly bored.

Most of the time though, he wrote to Aeryn. He said, I'm sorry. Come rescue me. He told her about the stars and the smell of wormholes, and every lesson he learned that came in handy. He said, I love you. There was no poetry.

He asked what the child was like. If it'd been born with ten fingers and ten toes. He wished he could have been there, could be there, would be there. He wrote his son or daughter, because his or not, Aeryn's child would have been his in every way that mattered if she'd let him. He managed not to write that in the imaginary letter. He thought of stories to tell, family histories, of both blood and adopted. He told him or her about eating snakes and singing songs. He asked, please forgive your father for his sins. Be good, for your mom. I love you, even though I've never met you and probably never will.

When he wrote Aeryn again to tell her he'd written the little tyke, he didn't say goodbye. It was a short letter, just a note really. By the time he signed it, his attention was already back on the stillness around him. Lightly, John drew Whitney and stepped over to where Angelica was lodged in a tree trunk.

_They're casting shadows._

John nodded. " 'By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.'"

The Wraith came.

* * *


	2. Part II

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow  
by Tassos

See Part I for story notes.

* * *

_"Yet do I fear thy nature;  
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness."_

_ Macbeth, 1.5_

Part II  
**Ruin**

"So the linguists took three weeks to translate the damn thing. Three weeks. Now I know languages are complicated but Edwards could have just given us the gist of the thing in a day, but no, it's always, "McKay, I'm busy. You'll get it when you get it." Rodney dropped his voice to imitate Dr. Edwards's baritone.

John smiled from the cockpit and relaxed into flight. The planet they skimmed over was lush and green with forests on the verge of summer. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, perfect for flying as the jumper hummed through the atmosphere on the way to the town about thirty miles from the gate. They were friends of friends, recommended to Atlantis by one of their other trading partners who knew they were always looking for ruins of the Ancestors.

"So? What'd it end up being?" asked Ronon, impatiently from the back. They'd been listening to Rodney go on about finding the largest Ancient manual that they had since they'd arrived. Apparently it had been a feat of programming and decryption unparalleled since the finding of the last largest prime number.

"It must have been important," said Teyla.

"Their entire structure of Ancient government." Rodney's voice was laced with contempt.

John smirked from the pilot's seat. "That sounds pretty important."

He could feel Rodney's eye roll. "Yes, it's important, but hardly interesting or worth the effort of five of my best programmers. I could have given the project to Finnes who's useless."

"Then you would still not know what the document contained," said Teyla.

"I know. Lose-lose situation all around."

"Relax, Rodney. Soon you'll be exploring fresh ruins and finding all sort of new toys to play with." John adjusted course as the human life signs grew stronger.

"I better."

On the horizon the forest fell away into a quiltwork of fields. John started to decelerate and soon the town came into view at a sedate pace. It was quaint, as most Pegasus towns were, and their arrival was expected. A greeting party had assembled by the time John landed the jumper just outside of the town limits. He gave Rodney a warning look as they waited for the ramp to descend and pasted a smile on his own face before descending the ramp.

* * *

"Ace." 

_ Nine.  
_

"Dace."

_That's not a word.  
_

"It's a fish. It's a word."

_Then it's a proper noun and against the rules.  
_

"It's the common name and you used trout from torture. It counts."

_You're cheating. There should be a rule against native fauna. And why must we use your language all the time. _

"Because it's my head and sebacean clicks drive me crazy."

* * *

The ruins were twenty miles outside of town. John got them as close as he could in the jumper but they had to hike the remaining nine miles through the forest. Luckily the terrain was pretty easy, despite Rodney's loud complaints, and they made good time. 

The forest had overgrown the building, but beneath the creepers the Ancient aesthetic still pushed forth. It was stepped with the second floor set back from the edifice, but not a pyramid. It probably descended underground, and John just hoped that there weren't any nasty surprises.

"Finally!" Rodney huffed as he joined John and Teyla in front of the door, with Ronon coming up behind. John spared him a glance, thankful that their arrival had given them a break from the whining. "Now that's what I'm talking about." Velcro ripped apart as Rodney pulled off his tablet and got to work.

Not wanting to get drafted until the site was secure, John turned hooked his head at Ronon and told Teyla they were going to take a look around. The building was small for all its height and equally covered in vines and saplings on the other three sides as on the front. There were boulders piled up against the left wall, probably from a landside from the hill that was off in that direction, and a few scratches here and there that promised an active night life, but nothing overly worrisome. When he and Ronon returned to the main door, Rodney had just gotten it open and was tentatively smelling the air.

"Seems okay," he said fishing out the artificial canary. John shone his flashlight into the dark interior. It was dusty, but with a crystalline reflection underneath in familiar hues. A minute later when Rodney pronounced it was safe for entry, John took point, thinking on at the building but getting no response.

"Power's gone."

"Yes, thank you for clarifying," replied Rodney tersely, already absorbed in his readings. John followed his directions to the main chamber that was pretty much the only place they could go anyway, and was mildly impressed in spite of himself. A rather large tank took up most of the room, stretching up to fill the second floor they'd seen from outside. In the light of their flashlights, they couldn't see far up in the dark, but John would bet that the ceiling opened up as well.

"That's big," commented Ronon who also stared up in appreciation.

Teyla nodded in agreement. "What was it used for?"

"That's what we are here to find out," said Rodney from the corner where he had already hooked up his tablet to the Ancient console. "Colonel, I need you to come turn this on."

"I thought the power was gone," said Ronon.

"Which is why it's hooked up to my computer and I have twenty minutes to figure out if we need to bring a generator."

"Oh. Twenty minutes?"

"Don't sound so pained. I'm sure you'll survive."

John smirked at the huffy look Ronon gave him before going to look around. Twenty minutes really wasn't bad for a recon mission, and they'd undoubtedly be back with more scientists and marines the next day with the generator. The planet was peaceful enough, but John didn't finish the thought out of fear of jinxing them.

By the time twenty minutes rolled around and Rodney's mutterings had become more agitated, John was explaining marbles to Ronon and Teyla. It turned out the Athosians had a similar child's game while Ronon thought it was the most ridiculous game he'd heard of since Parcheesi.

"All done?" he asked when Rodney joined them by the big tank.

"Not even close. But I don't have the tools to get into the casing and I'd much prefer to have light and Radek."

"Any idea what it is?"

"I was downloading files, not reading them," said Rodney. "I think it has something to do with monitoring the planet but there were too many words me and the translator didn't know. I swear, Edwards better fix the bugs in the program or I'm cutting his department."

"Would that not cause more problems?" asked Teyla as she checked her weapon. Everyone ready to go, John led them back into the hallway, letting Rodney's lecture on interdepartmental politics settle into background noise. He heard it enough at lunch to know the ins and outs of how Rodney managed his scientists and wasn't particularly interested in hearing it for the fiftieth time.

The door came into view as they rounded the corner, lit up from outside with a leaf hanging over the top.

"Hey, I thought this door was locked."

John stopped, squinted, and brought up his P-90 when he realized that the leaf was talking and was actually a head.

"Oh, crap," said the head and disappeared.

John felt his team come to a stop behind him. Rodney pointed, looked back and forth between the door and them, and said, "What was that?"

"We're going to find out," said John grimly, not liking this surprise one bit. "Come on."

'That' turned out to be a man sitting on the roof above the door to the ruins. He appeared unarmed and otherwise scruffy. He had the beginnings of a beard, brown hair hacked off at his collar, and a layer of dirt on his face thick enough to incite any mother to soap. His coat was a couple shades darker than Ronon's, and his pants and boots were black, all leather and patched.

"Look, don't shoot," the man held up his hands in the face of the three weapons on him. "I'm not going to hurt you. And I think you got odds and projectile weapons on your side."

The man had a point, and after a second John lowered his weapon a bit, Ronon and Teyla following his lead. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Who are you and how did you get that door open?" the man retorted. "It was locked solid when I tried it."

John frowned. He looked harmless enough, but his clothes and speech didn't match those of the villagers. "How long have you been here?"

The man shrugged and twisted so his feet dangled over the edge. "Couple days."

"On the roof?" asked Ronon.

"Well, I'm not sitting on air. Name's Crichton, by the way."

"John Sheppard," said John. He nodded at the others. "Teyla Emmagen, Rodney McKay, and Ronon Dex."

Crichton nodded back. "Find anything good in there?"

"Why, you looking for something?" demanded Rodney suspiciously.

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"What if I do?"

"Are you hiding something?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Rodney," John said to shut him up. "Look," he turned back to Crichton. "We were just taking a look around. We're explorers."

"I was just curious," the man shrugged. "I've seen a lot of these things and none of them are ever open unless a wall's come down."

"There's more here?" Rodney perked up.

"Why, are you looking for something?" Crichton threw back immediately. Fortunately, Teyla butted in before Rodney lost his top.

"Please. I believe we have strayed from our course. We wish merely to proceed on our way. We did not mean to startle you, but we thought we were alone here."

"Yeah, heard you come up. I was going for word twenty-seven in headcase." Crichton looked thoughtful for a moment, then annoyed. "No, twenty-seven. 'Dace' is a word."

"I think 'headcase' is apt," muttered Rodney.

John agreed but didn't say that out loud. The guy was most likely and outcast and it would be no surprise if it was because of mental health or lack thereof. Still. "Where are these other ruins? We were told these were the only ones here."

"They are, don't worry, you're not missing anything. I just see them around other places I've been."

"Other planets?" asked Ronon. John looked at him sharply, but Ronon was focused on their new friend.

Crichton shrugged. "I travel. Hey, you got anything to trade?"

"Perhaps," said Teyla. "Although we have already made arrangements in the village."

"Not from here. I was thinking more like ink, paper, food, painkillers."

John lifted his eyebrows at the list. "We'll see what we can do when we come back."

"Don't bother. I won't be here tomorrow," Crichton waved a dismissive hand. "You might not want to come back for a few days either, just in case."

"In case of what?" squawked Rodney.

"Wraith."

John looked at Ronon again, but before he could ask Ronon did. "You a Runner?"

Crichton stilled. His eyes flickered to John and back to Ronon. "You gonna shoot me if I say yes?"

"I was a Runner."

Rodney spluttered. "You mean there's Wraith on their way here right now? That's great. That's just great."

"Hey chill," said Crichton without taking his eyes from Ronon. "If I'm gone tomorrow, the likelihood of them showing up here is twenty to one."

Rodney rolled his eyes and John had to agree because this was them, and luck was never on their side this early in the game.

"We can help you," said Teyla.

"These people took the tracker out of my back," said Ronon. "They're good people."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch," said John carefully. Knowing he was a Runner, things made a little more sense, and knowing also made him want to help.

Crichton turned his attention to John, unreadable. "You got a doctor?"

"Yes, a good one."

The silence stretched out until Rodney couldn't take it anymore. "Why you're not jumping for joy over this I have no idea, but we really do have a doctor and we really will take the tracker out, no strings attached, because I am not about to wait for Wraith to show up before I've had a chance to figure out what the hell the Ancients were doing here. So chop chop. You're wasting my time."

Crichton remained silent, this time staring at Rodney until the scientist shifted uncomfortably. "There's daggers in men's smiles," he finally said. "'ll have to think about it. If I'm still here by the time you get back with your doctor, we'll see."

"Okay," said John, hearing the challenge hidden underneath his words. Crichton nodded and pulled himself back from the roof until he was out of sight, like a turtle pulling into his shell. It was a good defensible position, he thought as he turned to his team.

"I'm staying," said Ronon before John could issue orders.

"Ronon, we're coming back."

"I'm not letting him leave." It was written in the intensity of his eyes that Ronon wasn't going to let Crichton give up his chance at freedom.

John let out a breath. It wasn't a possibility he wanted to happen either. "Okay. Teyla you stay with Ronon. McKay and I'll go get Beckett. You two better be in one piece when I get back." He didn't seriously think that Crichton could take on both Ronon and Teyla and win, but he was a Runner that didn't trust them and was therefore dangerous.

"We will be fine," said Teyla calmly with a smile.

"All right." With a final reassuring look at each of them, and an uncertain one to the roof, John turned with Rodney back down the trail to the jumper.

* * *

"I don't remember what it's like not to run." 

_You don't always run from the Wraith.  
_

"Because they always catch up."

_You confronted Scorpious.  
_

"Because he always caught up too."

_ You stayed for Aeryn.  
_

"She ran."

_ A pause. Will you say no? _

"No." John covered his face with his hand. "I'm tired of running."

* * *

Ronon circled the building and climbed the boulders to the roof once Sheppard and McKay were gone. It was a little tricky in places but didn't take long and less time than that to find Crichton lying on his back near where he'd sat on the edge. His head rolled to look at Ronon but he made no other movement. Up close, Ronon could see the shadows and old bruises under the dirt. He looked much the way Ronon had felt when he was a Runner, not a threat but a tired man. Without ceremony, he sat down facing him two feet away, one knee propped comfortably, and tossed his power bar on Crichton's chest. 

The man looked at it a second before picking it up and tearing off the wrapper. He took a bite silently and pillowed his head on his other arm. His coat was stained with grime and there were patches on his shirt and pants. Near his head was a satchel with the handle of a Wraith stunner poking out within easy reach. Two knives were tucked into his belt. Ronon doubted he was in danger, but it could be a hell of a fight.

"How long have you been running?"

Crichton's eyes flickered over to him away from the sky. Blue eyes like McKay's but twice as wary. "More than a standard cycle. Year. Forever."

"It will stop."

Crichton closed his eyes and Ronon understood that too. Comprehending that this was the end was impossible.

When Crichton finally stirred it could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. "You got anymore food?"

Ronon fished out the second bar.

* * *

Processed food. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Hint of cardboard. Camping trips and shuttle flights. The crinkle of a wrapper. Words that didn't look familiar but yet felt so painfully right. 

Humans on a thousand worlds. Rectangles where flags could be. The top spun, spilling entrances and exits and dazzling hints like loose strands of thread streaming behind.

John didn't try to chase it. He thought instead about peanut butter and chocolate.

* * *

Carson was putting his equipment in order when Sheppard came into the back compartment of the jumper to tell him that Ronon, Teyla, and the Runner were emerging from the trees. He joined the Colonel to watch the trio approach. Teyla was in the lead with the two men in behind, and while this was certainly less terrifying than the first time he'd operated on Ronon, this new Runner didn't look any less dangerous for all the dirt and scruff. 

"Teyla, Ronon, Crichton," Sheppard greeted them.

"Colonel," Teyla returned. Crichton nodded but his eyes were roaming over the jumper before settling on Carson who smiled reassuringly. He tried not to let it unnerve him when Crichton didn't smile back.

"You the doctor?" he asked bluntly.

"Dr. Carson Beckett." Carson held out his hand. Crichton stared at it a moment before clasping it in a firm handshake, rough with callus. "We'll be performing the operation in here," he gestured to the back of the jumper. "It's not ideal, but I'm afraid we can't take you anywhere with the tracker still in."

Crichton peered inside then turned back to Carson. "How long you been a doctor?"

"Fifteen years. I've done this operation before. You have nothing to worry about."

"You know what a spinal cord is?"

"Yes," Carson smiled as reassuringly as he could, "and I won't damage it."

"Sorry, I wasn't clear." Crichton leaned forward slightly, his hand drifting to his belt and the wicked looking knives they held. "I'm not letting you cut into me until you tell me what it is."

Carson blinked and looked from Sheppard to Ronon to Teyla and finally back to the Runner before him. "You're giving me a test?" He couldn't quite believe it.

"The last person I talked to about cutting this thing out didn't know a fever from evil spirits."

Carson couldn't help the wince and echo of every derogatory comment Rodney made about medicine. It was a reasonable request to ensure that your surgeon knew what he was doing before he opened you up, but it still stung. "Very well." Carson went into detail about the spinal cord and the results of damage to it and then patiently answered Crichton's concerns about infection. The man watched him the whole time, eyes like a predator's waiting for one misstep before going in for the kill. Carson, thankfully, passed the test.

"Cool." Crichton clapped his hands together. "What kind of painkillers do you have?" He didn't even wait for an answer; he simply walked into the jumper. "See?" he said to himself. Carson looked back at the Colonel and was partially reassured by the eyebrow that was fast approaching his hairline.

Carson shook off the oddness of the whole situation and chalked it up with all the other bizarreness that was life in Pegasus. In the professional zone once more, he told Crichton to take off his shirt and lay on the bench. The man was gaunter than Ronon had been, with ribs showing through the hard muscle on his chest. Scratches and scars peppered his body, more than a few recent and one or two filled with pus. "Looks like you have a few infections already," he commented as he did a cursory exam.

"Tell me something I don't know." Crichton looked down at himself and poked the largest of his sores. "I tried to keep 'em clean but, something in the water must have got in them."

Deeper bruising and cuts littered his back in patterns the size of sticks and feet. Carson didn't ask what caused them. The fact that he was a Runner was answer enough. Instead he grit his teeth and decided that he would be talking Sheppard into taking the Runner home with them until he'd healed up properly. However, that would have to wait until the tracker came out. "Now, here's what I'm going to give you," Carson held up the syringe of local anesthetic as he launched into an explanation of the procedure and got to work.

* * *

The absence of pain was a miraculous thing. As were drugs that weren't an accident. Alcohol was still on the list of bad-ideas-that-should-not-be-revisited, but drugs? Drugs led to Disneyland. 

_John sat back with Harvey, relaxed, and enjoyed the hookah._

* * *

**Mason**

Elizabeth waited for John's team in the jumper bay with the medical team and Marines. She wasn't happy about the turn of events, Teyla and Ronon not withstanding, but Carson had been adamant that the Runner needed more medical treatment than a band-aid after his impromptu surgery. Teyla's report just added confusion to what should have been a straightforward investigation of Ancient ruins, confusion that Elizabeth frankly was not in the mood to deal with. She had authorized their return only because it was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

When the jumper landed, Elizabeth stayed out of the way until Carson passed with a nod and his patient on the gurney. There were too many people for her to get a good look at him beyond a pale back and brown hair, but Elizabeth knew that would soon change and waited instead for John and his team, minus Rodney, to emerge.

"Tell me he's not a threat," she said by way of greeting as the three of them joined her. Ronon was watching the gurney roll away, but both John and Teyla regarded her solemnly.

"Well, he's been running for over a year," said John letting the rest go unsaid. "Beckett's got him sedated and we'll keep him in quarantine until we're sure he's not carrying anything else dangerous."

"And all this about alternate realities?" asked Elizabeth with a glance at Teyla as John frowned and did that thing where he clearly hadn't thought much beyond getting back to Atlantis.

"I figured we could talk to Rodney about that."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Rodney, who is as we speak gearing up with Lorne and a dozen scientists to go back to the planet?"

"Elizabeth, at the moment Crichton is out cold. He's not a problem. I talked to Beckett; he's got him under control until we can make sure he's not a threat. He didn't even pull a weapon on us at all."

"He had a Wraith stunner," said Ronon. "And he wasn't expecting this to happen."

"Teyla?" Elizabeth asked when she could no longer hold Ronon's gaze.

"When I spoke with him, he seemed genuine. He, too, is wary of us. I believe we should treat him as a guest once he has passed quarantine since we did bring him here without consulting him."

Elizabeth could think of a dozen ways this could go wrong, but her natural inclination to trust in people told her she was being paranoid. If this Runner was a threat, they would take care of it. No sense borrowing trouble out of fear. "Very well. We'll take this one step at a time." She looked hard at John who nodded. The three of them went off to the infirmary for their own check ups, leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts.

The control room was quiet when she returned to her office to stare at her screensaver and think about a Runner that claimed to come from another reality.

* * *

Waking in unfamiliar places was not unusual. Waking without the sound of trees or the smell of dirt was. Waking on a mattress was enough to make John not care. 

Soft. Warm. A trickle of thought and a light whisper of the day's events fluttered just under the sensation of no aches or muscle cramps from sleeping on rocks and roots. The bed was almost too soft for comfort, but luxurious and beyond memory. Four soldiers and a doctor rolled around in his head, banging against the top, knocking strands loose again. The haze of drugs in his system was distracting so John told Harvey to buzz off and went back to his affair with the bed.

* * *

The first conversation John had with Crichton after their return wasn't much of a conversation. He'd stopped by after Carson informed him that the Runner had woken up and gone in only to have Crichton look at him and say, "I'm having a moment with my bed. Go away," before rolling over and promptly falling asleep again. 

The second conversation went a bit better with John actually getting a word in before Crichton started asking about where he was. "That doctor of yours said he wanted to patch me up proper, and really, I don't have anywhere else to be, but I was just wondering where the hell I am because, I haven't seen anything like this except on rooftops."

John swung around the chair beside Crichton's bed and straddled it. "Well, that's because you're in the original. Welcome to Atlantis."

Crichton's face stilled. "Atlantis," he said with a hint of disbelief. "As in 'lost continent of'?"

"More like 'city'," John frowned. "And that brings us to what you told Teyla. Just where exactly are you from?"

"Oh, that's a loaded question." Crichton gave him a slight smile. "But I don't think it's anywhere near here."

"You mentioned alternate realities?" John prompted, because he really wanted to know what was up with that. The whole time travel, alternate timeline-universe thing was weird enough when it was people he knew, but from someone else – from someone else from Pegasus? Yeah. "How's that work?"

"You think I _know_?" Crichton laughed harshly. "Harv, did you hear that? Man, I am the universe's whipping boy. I just know that humans are not supposed to be out here. Settled, having babies, sticking pitchforks in your face, running from Wraith. And certainly not the U.S. Military checking out alien ruins."

Okay. That was interesting. "So you're from Earth."

"Florida."

"How did you get to Pegasus?"

"Pegasus?" asked Crichton warily.

John blinked, then told him. "We're in the Pegasus galaxy."

"The Pegasus galaxy," Crichton repeated, definitely shocked. He threw his head back on the pillow and groaned. "Un-fucking-believable. Sixty light-years my ass. Yeah, shut up."

John couldn't help but sympathize; he did understand where the guy was coming from. "Look, you're not our prisoner here," he said. "I realize you've had a shitty year, but we'll help you out as much as we can. Get you set up somewhere you can settle in. For our own peace of mind, we'd like to know how you got here and if you really are from an alternate universe. This is all very classified so it's possible we're all in the same world, so to speak."

Eyes closed and with a hand covering his face, Crichton said, "I was an IASA astronaut. Accidentally got myself shot through a wormhole."

"IASA?" That only rang bells in rhyme. "International Aeronautic and Space Agency?" he hazarded a guess. When Crichton nodded, John sighed. "It's still NASA where I'm from. I guess this calls for a welcome wagon after all."

Crichton didn't reply or even move, so John left him to his thoughts.

* * *

Frell. 

Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell.

Frell.

_Tell me, how is this worse than our previous situation. _

I know about it.

* * *

"It's a terraforming station." Rodney beamed at everyone in the conference room. "We were right about when the Ancient's seeded the galaxy they made it human friendly. It's an amazing piece of work and we've only scratched the surface. I've got people combing the database for references as we speak. We're also going to need a few more days on the planet to catalogue everything and bring what we need back for further research." 

Elizabeth smiled at his enthusiasm. "Make sure you get permission from the locals and follow proper protocol."

"Yes, yes, don't worry," Rodney waved a dismissive hand. "We'll make sure they don't run after us with spears."

"Good. You have a go," she said quickly before he could start waxing poetic. "Carson?" She turned to the next item of business. "How's our guest?"

"Physically, he's recovering nicely," said the doctor. "He's been sleeping off surgery which is no surprise given that his body has been pushed to extremes in the last year. His other wounds are responding to antibiotics and will clear up in a few weeks."

"But?" prompted John in the pause that followed.

"But," Carson sighed in agreement, "I gave him the full body scan that's part of our quarantine procedures and found something interesting."

"Exuding chemicals-interesting or third nipple-interesting?" asked Rodney, lifting his head from his ever-present data tablet.

"Abnormal brain activity-interesting," said Carson heavily, turning his gaze to Elizabeth. "The normal human uses very distinct sections of the brain for different activities. There's a range of course due to natural variation from one person to another, but within parameters. Crichton was all over the map. I did another scan while he was sleeping and it came up as if he were awake."

Elizabeth frowned at the unsettling news. "Do you know what it means?"

"He's not sending out . . .vibes, is he?" asked John.

"No, Colonel," Carson smiled. "There's nothing abnormal coming out of his head. I don't think it poses a direct threat."

"But indirectly?" asked Elizabeth.

Carson shrugged. "I'm not exactly read up on neurological disorders. I asked Dr. Heightmeyer to take a look at the scans but she couldn't tell me anything except that it wasn't anything she recognized. He behaves normally – or as normally as anyone coming out of a self imposed exile does. I couldn't find anything else that could be potentially harmful. If he was one of our people, I'd release him today but keep him monitored."

"Could his condition be because he came from an alternate reality?" asked Teyla.

"It's possible," said Rodney after a pause for wondering. "Neurological changes are not unheard of, although since we know next to nothing about how he got here, it's anyone's guess. He's clearly not had a problem with entropic cascade failure." At Teyla's frown, he explained, "problems with having two of a person in the same reality. Namely death."

"All right," Elizabeth took a deep breath willing her headache to go away. "Release him for now. But I want a guard on him at all times."

John nodded and Ronon said, "I'll do it," which reassured Elizabeth more than knowing it would be just the Marines keeping their guest out of trouble.

* * *

He had never felt princelier than at this moment sitting on the porcelain throne. Granted, it wasn't porcelain but it was a toilet and that's all he really cared about. No leaves to worry about giving him rashes, no sticks to fall on, no stones upsetting his balance. The luxury of taking a dump in a clean, indoor room was almost orgasmic.

* * *

Crichton noticed him as soon as he stopped in the doorway, though he didn't turn his head. It was clear in the slight tensing of his shoulder and the shift of his feet as he sorted through his belongings. Clean and dressed in the red hospital scrubs, he looked like a different man, less somehow and out of his element. Ronon wasn't sure if it was the news of where he was or the loss of his coat, or maybe his knives, he amended as the former Runner fingered his empty sheath. 

"Sheppard said I wasn't a prisoner," he said without turning.

"You're not." Ronon straightened from his slouch against the wall. "But too many guests have turned into enemies."

Crichton smiled, still fingering his sheath, head bowed. "I hear that." He finally looked up. "So now what?"

"Beckett tell you you were released from the infirmary?"

"With caveats and an instruction manual."

"Well, I'm your escort." Crichton's wounds weren't obvious but his ribs were visible; Ronon remembered well living from day to day on what you could scrape together, and knew a couple weeks of eating regularly would take the edge off.

"What? No guard?"

Ronon didn't bother answering what his bulk clearly implied. "Get dressed," he said instead. "All your clothes were washed. We can get you knew ones if you want."

Crichton brushed a finger over his leather pants, neatly folded by his satchel. "Nah, I'm good with these."

And Ronon understood that too. It had taken months of subtle digs from Teyla before he'd been able to let go of a few things. When all you had were the clothes on your back, they were like a shield, a friend to keep out the cold. Running, alone, you needed all the friends you could get.

"I'll show you where you're staying." He stepped outside to wait, and a few minutes later, Crichton emerged dressed and with his pack and his coat over his arm.

"So who built this place?" he asked looking around as they started off. There were a couple Marines a discreet distance back which Crichton saw, but chose not to comment on. "It's some pretty colorful architecture. Very pointy. Very Picasso." He looked at the high ceiling of the intersection. "Very funny," he added dryly.

Ronon raised an eyebrow at that. "The Ancestors built it. Who your people call the Ancients."

"Ancients?" Crichton stopped, his attention focused on Ronon. "What'd they look like?"

Frowning at the odd question, Ronon shrugged. "Like us. From what I gather, we descended from them. Or something." At Crichton's frown he added, "You should probably ask Dr. Weir."

"And who's that?"

Ronon smiled lightly and resumed walking. "The lady in charge."

It didn't take long for them to get to the guest quarters, and Crichton did not remain silent for any of that time. He mostly spoke of things he saw – cool waterfall, how many people there were, what the tiles reminded him of – asked a few questions, like how the doors worked, and answered others himself without stopping for breath. He told Ronon how he would decorate and said that no, fuchsia was not an option. Ronon wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not. It was chatter like McKay's chatter to fill the silence and provide comfort. That Ronon was there to hear it was immaterial.

Ronon leaned against the door jamb while Crichton inspected his room. His hands touched everything, he bounced on the bed, and he spent a full ten minutes with all the water running in the bathroom, silent. Ronon smiled. It was like watching himself again when he first came to Atlantis.

They headed to the gym next, though Ronon didn't tell him that, just pointed out things like quarters and rec rooms and labs on the way. Crichton got distracted by the television and again ran his hands over everything, muttering the whole time. With a promise that they'd come back later, Ronon finally got him out of there and to the gym.

"What's this?" Crichton asked when they entered the empty room. It was the smaller one Teyla and Sheppard used to spar away from the Marines. Ronon like to come here too sometimes, just to get away from people.

"I thought I'd see how good you were in a fight."

"You brought me here to beat me up?"

"Sheppard would have dragged you to beat up Marines." Ronon slid his outer shirt off leaving only his sleeveless one. He swung his arms to loosen them up a little. Crichton watched him for a moment before shaking his head and laughing.

"You're kidding, right? This is some sort of joke?"

Ronon shrugged back. "I wanna see how you do."

"This is hazing. I'm back in college." Crichton threw up his hands in a gesture of disbelief. "Sorry, not playing."

Ronon decided to wait him out, and when Crichton stared back, said. "Humor me."

"By getting the snot beat out of me? Been there, done that, got the bruises to prove it. Last time a guy your size came after me I hid in the ductwork for three days."

"Thought you might want to move around some after being stuck in bed." Ronon shrugged like it was no big deal.

Crichton shook his head but was smiling. "Oh, that bed. Like a little piece of heaven." Ronon smiled at that and wasn't surprised when Crichton added amicably, "Not moving suits me just fine."

"Fair enough." They caught gazes, held, and Ronon saw more than a reflection of himself. "Lunch?"

"Now that we can get behind."

As Ronon led the way to the mess, Crichton started talking again, but this time he asked questions about Ronon – how long he'd been a Runner, how he'd fought the Wraith, hunted, avoided people. Questions no one else on Atlantis really asked for fear of upsetting him. Strangely, when Crichton asked, all the anger and hatred for the Wraith settled into a low hum because Crichton knew them and didn't have to be told. It was there in the half finished sentences and every time their eyes met. Instead comparing notes and stories felt surprisingly . . . normal – and turned exclusively to food when they arrived at the mess.

Crichton tried everything and commented on everything. He was familiar with many of the Earth foods, unsurprisingly according to Sheppard, but there were others he likened to things Ronon hadn't heard of before. After the tasting, they just ate, Crichton quieting and Ronon alternately watching him and glaring at the gawkers.

"Told you," Crichton sighed happily around a mouthful at one point. "Quit it."

"What?"

The other man looked up and poked at his beet greens. "This reminds me of my mother's garden. She used to grow all sorts of things and we'd eat home grown all summer."

"Back on Earth?"

Crichton took another bite. "When I was a kid."

"Must have been a shock ending up here." Ronon glanced at a nearby table of scientists, half of whom were new. He couldn't imagine them surviving as a Runner for over a year.

"Story of my life," snorted Crichton humorlessly. "At least the aliens here only want to eat me."

Ronon looked up sharply, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "You mean the Wraith?" he asked, startled at how Crichton, a Runner, could just say that. "They caught you and hunted you like an animal." Hunted _him_ like an animal. "How is that 'only'?"

Crichton twirled his fork, suddenly closed and distant. "I'm not saying they don't suck. Or that I'm not angry at what they did. Just they're not the first aliens I've seen, and certainly not the worst." He looked away. "Yes, him."

"Who?"

"Look, the Wraith culled your world, right?"

Ronon stared at him. Reducing what the Wraith did to Sateda to a culling was like saying the ocean outside was just a pond. Anger burned behind his eyes, no longer comfortable. "They _destroyed_ my world. Whole cities. Thousands upon thousands of people. They bombarded us for a week until every thing that could have been rebuilt was pulverized and every person that could rebuild it was dead."

"They ruined your life," Crichton half whispered, not flinching away from the Ronon's fury. "Mine was already ruined." Shadows lurked in Crichton's eyes and he looked down again quickly, digging his fork back into his potatoes. "I don't have the energy to hate everyone who screws me over."

If Crichton was bothered by Ronon staring, trying to figure him out, he gave no sign of it.

* * *

Box potatoes never tasted so good. And fresh vegetables! Beets, carrots, some funky looking root that tasted like ginger and grapefruit. There was a meat that was probably better left unidentified but not half bad. And gravy! And spices! John couldn't remember the last time food tasted this good. 

Wondered what he tasted like.

_Chicken.  
_

Wondered why the Wraith couldn't eat him.

_Because you're running around with your head cut off.  
_

Wondered if they couldn't eat Ronon either.

_Ronon probably eats them.  
_

* * *

It was 2200 by the time Rodney and Radek finally got to the good stuff. One wouldn't know it from taking a stroll through the labs since they were as busy as they were during the day, if not more so as those with daytime duties they couldn't ignore joined their colleagues in the buzzing excitement. 

For once, everyone was happy with the find. Biology and Chemistry were gushing over the molecular remains, Engineering was drooling over the six –no seven, no six – stage deployment system, Anthropology was knee deep in discussions over the implications for Ancient morality, and Earth Sciences was practically orgasmic about having something within their field to work on. The Physics department got their hands on the unique power source that fueled the whole terraforming plant. After a day of cataloguing and directing the extraction of anything interesting – which was everything – Rodney shoed everyone else who wasn't Zelenka away from the power source to the schematics that were in the process of being developed.

The power source – which still didn't have a name – was contained in a five by twenty by two foot steel-like container that had just barely fit in the jumper. It had a dozen pipe leads which had been meticulously disconnected from the various parts of the actual system and appeared to be an injector fuel system, though no one knew what the fuel was. Rodney wanted to make sure that he got a look at the thing before it was dismantled and its guts laid bare. It was off the wall for the Ancients and after twenty minutes of arguing and pointing they finally decided that it was a meant to be selfsustaining which only brought up the question of why this and not a ZPM or other form of energy. This brought them back to the bottom line of a long term terraforming project and barging into Chemistry to ask a few questions about sustainability.

The Marines on patrol just shook their heads when they walked through the labs four hours later, unnoticed.

* * *

John ended his first awake day in Atlantis with a shower. He'd had a brief one already, but in his very own room he stood in the spray for a full arn, just letting it soak in. Dirt was so deeply imbedded in his skin that he was sure he'd need that long to get clean. 

Hot water. Endless hot water.

_Quiet.  
_

He almost felt human again.

* * *

"Mr. Crichton, thank you for coming." Elizabeth rose as the former Runner stepped into her office, his Marine escort stopping just outside the door. A shower and a good night's sleep had done the man wonders since she'd seen him last just after his surgery. "I'm Dr. Weir." She held out her hand which he took. 

"Doctor." He sat when she indicated the guest chair and resumed her own seat. His eyes skidded around her office, hitting decorations and flickering to the activity in the gate room below, before finally coming to rest on her. "I guess I have you to thank for getting that thing out of my back, so thank you."

"You're welcome," Elizabeth smiled, not having expected his gratitude. "We try to help where we can against the Wraith."

"So I hear."

"You've heard of us?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"You're the Lanteans, right," Crichton smiled. "Word gets around."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Oh, you know. You rob a bank, everyone thinks you raped a village. Unless you actually did, but, somehow," he drawled the word out, "I don't think that's the case."

Elizabeth almost asked why, but then decided that it would take this conversation places she didn't want it to go. "I admit things don't always turn out the way we would like, but that seems to be life in the Pegasus galaxy," she said wryly instead.

"Or anywhere."

She acknowledged the point by inclining her head. "I hope your stay here has been comfortable. I know the guards are less than ideal, but I'm sure you can understand the precaution."

Crichton chuffed a laugh, "I get it."

"Good," Elizabeth said. "Because I take any threat to my people seriously." She made sure she held his eye until he looked away and back.

"I get it," he repeated, the humor gone from his eyes.

"I hope so."

"You know you could just put me in a cell. Save yourself the worry."

"I prefer to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Cautiously." Crichton's lips twitched into a smile to which Elizabeth couldn't help but purse her lips in return. She sat back in her chair a little more relaxed. She knew it was probably too early to trust him, but she did find herself liking him. He had an air of comfortable masculinity that reminded her a bit of Ronon with the charisma to rival John's without the prickliness.

"I asked you here to discuss your future," said Elizabeth. "I understand you don't know exactly how you arrived in our universe, and given the length of time it's been, our scientists don't know if we can help you get back. Honestly, I don't know if we have the resources to try." Elizabeth hated saying it, but they were stretched as it was, and with the discovery of the terraforming station, it would be a half hearted effort at this point. Crichton didn't react, as if he expected as much. "We are willing and able to help you settle in this galaxy. We have helped refugees before find new places to live."

"Like Ronon."

Unsure she wanted him to get the idea that he could stay on Atlantis, Elizabeth nonetheless knew that anything less would be cruel to an American astronaut. "Like Ronon. We asked him to stay. That said, we are not kicking you to the curb right away. Dr. Beckett would like to ensure that you have recovered from your time as a Runner which will also give you time to think about what you want to do. Also, I would like to offer what I can to make your transition back to civilization as painless as possible. We have a psychiatrist on base if you would like to talk to her."

"A shrink?" Crichton shifted and then surprised her. "Yeah. Yeah, that might be nice." Her shock must have showed because he added, "What? I know I'm crazy. Seriously."

Elizabeth schooled her features, her mind going back to abnormal brain patterns. "I'll let Dr. Heightmeyer know."

"Cool. And can I get a pen and some paper? And music? I'd kill for the _1812 Overture._" He smiled to show that he didn't mean that literally.

"I'll see what I can do." Elizabeth stood to signal the end of the meeting, Crichton following her lead. "We'll speak again soon," she offered her hand, which he again shook firmly.

"Peace." His blue eyes caught hers in all seriousness, and she knew deep inside that he meant it.

* * *

_Why are you so eager to talk to someone else about your "feelings"? You can talk to me.  
_

"I always talk to you."

_ So now there's people around and I'm back to being a second rate psychosis. _

"Look, I'm stuck with you. And yes, you've probably kept me sane – "

_You would be nothing without me, a gibbering baboon._

"But! I have a chance to talk to someone not you about this whole frelled up experience! You bet I'm taking it."

_ I will play DK's scratched Nirvana album the whole time.  
_

"You do that and I'll pound you into an Iron Maiden and glue the door shut."

* * *

The mess hall was crowded when John entered for dinner. He gave the room a once over as he headed for the line and saw that it was sharply divided between scientists and military. No surprise with the station they discovered, and no surprise that Rodney was no where to be found. He did see Elizabeth in the corner table she took when she was working through meals and decided to join her to make sure she was actually eating. 

"Good book?" he asked as he set his tray down.

Elizabeth looked up, startled. "Reports on the terraforming plant," she said. "Absolutely fascinating."

"I'll wait till the movie comes out." John eyed the scrollbar on her tablet suspiciously making Elizabeth chuckle.

"Really John, aren't you just the least bit interested in how they transformed a planet from desolation into a place fit for human habitation? The implications for their perceived role in the universe?"

"They came, they played God, they left. We see evidence for that everywhere."

"It's more than that." Elizabeth had a look in her eye that John didn't see much of anymore, a look of excitement and possibility.

"They left messes," he said slowly. "That we fall into."

Elizabeth blinked and folded her arms on the table. "What's gotten you in a bad mood?"

John rolled his eyes. "Staff meetings and paperwork." Since the team was on stand down until Rodney could be pried away from the labs John didn't have an excuse to not foist them off on Lorne. "How was your day?"

"I met with Crichton this morning," said Elizabeth. "Gave him a heads up on thinking about what he wants to do once Carson clears him. He agreed to see Heightmeyer too. They met this afternoon."

"Really?" That was a surprise. John wouldn't have taken Crichton for the type to agree to seeing a shrink. Teyla had balked. Ronon had to be tricked into it. "What'd she have to say?"

"Patient confidentiality, John," Elizabeth reminded him. "But she did say he was behaving better than expected for someone who has come out of prolonged isolation. No overt signs of mental disorders or anything like that. He apparently just wanted to talk about the last year."

John mulled that over as he dug into his vegetables. He could taste the freezer burn. "Nothing weird?"

"Weird? No, why?"

John shrugged. "Just something Ronon said last night, that Crichton sometimes said 'we' instead of 'I' and made comments that made no sense. Ronon wasn't too specific, just that he had a feeling Crichton was off in the head a little."

"Does he think he's dangerous?"

"He thinks he's a little crazy 'cause he doesn't hate the Wraith." Which John also felt was a little more worrisome than spouting nonsense. The guy had been alone for a year, talking to himself was only to be expected. Not hating the Wraith could spell all kinds of trouble.

"He give any reason why?" asked Elizabeth.

"Ronon didn't say."

"Hmm." She picked at her salad and they ate in silence for a moment.

The thing that bugged John about the whole thing was the Crichton didn't strike him as a Wraith worshipper type. The man had the whole lone cowboy attitude which meshed with his story of being an astronaut.

"He asked for paper and pen today, and music," said Elizabeth. She poked at her salad again then stabbed a crouton. "He's not Ronon."

"No," John agreed, thinking of two knives, an empty alien pistol, and a piece of cloth with three symbols written in blood. Crichton was his age, maybe older, and he laughed and he talked to shrinks, and didn't give a rat's ass what people thought. "He's not." What to do about him hung in the air between them.

"Dr. Weir?" Rodney's voice crackled over the command channel.

Elizabeth looked up alarmed as John felt the first prickles of disaster. "Yes, Rodney, what is it?"

"We might have a small problem."

* * *

There was a mess inside of him that refused to be cleaned up. Sticky emotions of anger and frustration and regret and loss. And something like relief. He couldn't remember all he said, just indistinct things about family and a future gone to hell and even if things were bad at least he had a place. John felt like he was in limbo and Atlantis was a dream. He was just waiting to wake up back to a world of running from the Wraith. Wake up back to Moya. 

_You are awake. And this is your world.  
_

* * *

The power source/injection system/Pandora's box was the centerpiece of the mechanics lab. At Rodney's orders a team was trying to put it back together to mitigate the damage done while he and Radek and half the biologists tried to get a handle on the sensor readings that were what had preceded a literally alarming response in the ventilation system. 

"Rodney," Elizabeth's command voice broke over the bustle and for a moment it subsided as everyone looked up. "Talk to me."

Rodney turned as she and Sheppard crossed to him, the readings already burned in his brain. "Remember the power source I was talking about for the terraforming plant? Bio-diesel of some sort," he continued before they could reply. "I have no idea why; we're still working out the details. Or we were before the ventilation system went haywire."

"Haywire?"

"It was localized, and the system compensated for it. It's still compensating."

"But that's good, right?" asked Sheppard with his endless supply of optimism.

"Yes, that's good," Rodney repeated the obvious. "Except for the tiny fact that the saturation levels on the filters are rising _rapidly_, and there has been an alarming drop in oxygen next to the sensor."

"Rodney," Elizabeth's voice held a mixture of following along and frustration.

"Right, right," he waved off her questions. "Bottom line. The microbes that provided the gas to fuel the cell were dormant. When we opened it up, poof, into the air gumming up the works. It took all day of course before we even noticed anything, and then the readings were so low no one noticed till one of the filters clogged – that was the alarm – and then we noticed the oxygen readings."

"So what are we looking at here?" asked Sheppard. "We have a whole atmosphere full of oxygen."

"At the current rate of consumption, yes," put in Radek, joining them with Dr. Hensley, Biology's subhead, just behind him.

"Unfortunately, in the last day we've noticed an exponential growth of the microbes in the chamber," Dr. Hensley gestured at the fuel cell. "They lay dormant in spores until activated by the light. And we think they've mutated."

"Which means?" Elizabeth looked from Dr. Hensley to Rodney who rolled his eyes at the ominous statements of conjecture.

"Which means that the microbes that probably once produce oxygen given that we're dealing with a terraforming station, now consume it," Rodney said. "Immaterial really, but they're reproducing rapidly and this is at minimum ten thousand year old terraforming equipment we're dealing with here. Who knows what's contaminated the system. In any case, the problem isn't so much the decrease in oxygen, it's the contaminated filters in the ventilation system. That gets clogged and even with the opening all the exterior doors and windows, we'll have a serious problem. The good news is that we have time on our side."

"We think," added Radek, the doomsayer as always.

"So, we're not in any immediate danger," Sheppard asked.

"Well, I'm not going to jinx us by saying 'no' because then we'll have all sorts of crazy snot mutating everywhere." Bad enough they were dealing with more biological problems.

"All right," Elizabeth nodded. She looked at Sheppard and let out a breath. "Keep us apprised."

Rodney waved them out and turned back to his headache. He hated biology with a fiery passion and this was just one more strike against it.

* * *

Shh. 

_But –  
_

Shh. Listen.

_I –  
_

"Harvey! One word . . ."

It was dark and the blankets were warm like being curled up on a cold winter's day in front of the fire. John ignored the sulking in the back of his head and it faded into nothingness while they listened. Crap speakers that sounded like a concert hall as the orchestra played outside his head for the first time in years.

* * *

**Shape**

It was just past dawn when Ronon stopped by Crichton's room before his morning run. The former Runner had practically locked himself in after he'd met with Heightmeyer yesterday and the word from the Marines guarding him wasn't encouraging. Crichton was a stranger in a strange place and with all the problems recent guests had caused, no one was eager to make friends. Ronon figured the man needed a chance.

He nodded to the sergeants on duty and knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Crichton answered dressed still in his worn shirt and leather pants. He was barefoot and clearly hadn't slept. Instrumental music played loudly in the background, but most striking was the paper that was everywhere. The desk, the table, the bed the floor, all with a single trail leading from spiral to line in an equally complicated layout.

"Ronon!" Crichton blinked. "What's up? Geez, what time is it?"

"Morning. I was wondering if you wanted to go for a run?" Ronon thought not, but it couldn't hurt to ask anyway.

"A run?" Crichton said, processing rather than insulting the idea. "I don't think I'm in any shape to run," he added. "But hey, you wanna get breakfast when you get back? I gotta finish some . . . top stuff." His hand waved vaguely in the direction of the room behind him, and when he actually looked he seemed to notice the mess for the first time. "And organize."

It made Ronon smile, reminding him a bit of McKay, so he nodded and said, "I'll be back in half an hour."

"Cool." Crichton turned back to him. "I'll try to not look like something the cat dragged in."

He'd showered and shaved by the time Ronon had done the same and returned to his room. The paper was still in evidence, just with another trail leading to the bathroom. "So what is all that?" Ronon asked as they started down the corridor to the mess, the Marines trialing them.

"Just some stuff that's been floating around in my head," said Crichton. "Might help me get home."

Ronon gave him a sideways glance wondering if anyone had told him that it would be next to impossible to get him back to wherever he'd come from. If they had, it might not have made a difference. You didn't survive as a Runner by giving up. "It looked complicated."

Crichton shrugged. "Did you have a good run?"

It was Ronon's turn to shrug. It hadn't been anything extraordinary. He and Sheppard had taken a shorter route through the West Pier which they didn't normally do because it was away form the sunrise. "You should come with us tomorrow."

"I just quit running for my life, thank you," Crichton shook his head as he said it, and Ronon knocked him in the shoulder for it.

At Crichton's startled "hey!" and side step, he said, "You're getting soft."

"I'm getting bruises." Crichton rubbed his arm which only made Ronon grin. He couldn't say why, but being around Crichton felt like being home on Sateda with his squad. Shared experience maybe, or the way Crichton seemed to be looking right through him to someone he once knew. Sheppard did that too sometimes, but he was in command and there was always an edge of friendly competition that was missing with Crichton who would probably lose to Ronon in a fight and not care about it.

When they reached the mess hall it was still early. Sheppard wasn't in yet, but that wasn't unusual as he always met with Lorne in the mornings for breakfast a little later. It was mostly a smattering of the early bird scientists – and those who hadn't yet gone to sleep – and Marines. Teyla was also at their usual table near the back with a mug of tea so Ronon nudged Crichton in her direction once the other man had gotten a bit of everything available, all carefully arranged on two plates.

"Everyone's watching me," he said as they walked over.

Ronon cast a look about, scattering the gazes of the scientists and getting polite nods but no fewer stares from the Marines. A few were talking, too indistinct to hear and probably harmless but he knew how Crichton saw it. "Ignore them."

"What, you're my mother now?"

"You won't fight them."

Crichton gave him a look that doubted his intelligence. "They're Marines. Even I don't have that much of a death wish."

"Good morning," Teyla greeted the pair.

"Teyla." Ronon smiled as he set down his tray.

"Teyla Emmagen of the Athosians," Crichton said as he sat down. "How are you?"

"I am well. And you? How has your stay been on Atlantis?"

"Well," Crichton spoke with his mouth full and hooked a thumb at Ronon. "Between him lugging me around, Weir threatening me, and the shrink tearing my guts up, not bad actually. Lot of people here, but no one actively trying to kill me. They treat you guys ok?"

"Yes," Teyla smiled at the question. "We are part of the team, as the Colonel would say."

"Weir threatened you?" asked Ronon surprised. She didn't usually do that right away.

"Sort of. She doesn't trust me not to go psycho and kill everyone," Crichton replied with his face so straight Ronon had to double check to make sure he wasn't serious.

"You must understand that we have had . . . difficulties with visitors recently." Teyla clasped her mug between her hands.

"No, I get it. Had my share of guests who outstayed their welcome," Crichton waved the biscuit in his hand. "Shouldn't have been expecting to stay here long anyway."

"Wait, you're not staying?" That couldn't be right, Ronon looked from Crichton to Teyla who was just as concerned at that news as he was.

Crichton's head tilted to the side as if to let them in on a secret. "Apparently Atlantis is invitation only. And mine got taken out of my back. I get to pick a planet to go to once Beckett's done with me. He's not doing anything weird is he?"

Teyla smiled. "He will do nothing to harm you."

"He thinks you have weird brain patterns," added Ronon which stopped Crichton short.

"What?" he demanded slowly.

"Said the patterns were off." Ronon watched as the other man let his fork drop and his whole body still, surprised Beckett hadn't talked about it with him.

"He did a brain scan of me? What else did he do?"

"It is part of the quarantine protocol," Teyla stepped in with her best reassuring voice. "The Ancient technology is noninvasive; we all go through the process when we return from off world."

"Except no one bothered to tell me," Crichton snapped.

"I'm sure you would have been informed when Carson had more to tell you," said Teyla. "You are scheduled to meet with him today, are you not?"

"Yeah." Crichton sighed and shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair and reigned himself in. "Another meeting."

Ronon looked over at Teyla, wondering if he should have told him despite the fact that it was his head under discussion. Couldn't be undone at this point now, and Crichton seemed to take it in stride. Teyla however had the look of a cause on her face and Ronon knew this would be brought up at _their_ next meeting.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Crichton kept casting looks at curious faces that occasionally turned their way, edgy and uncomfortable as his eyes flickered looking for threats. There was nothing to be done about them either except hide away, which was really no solution at all.

"So Teyla," Crichton broke the conversational silence. "I've been meaning to ask you. What kind of place have your people got set up on the Mainland?"

"A hunting village that has turned into a more permanent settlement now that we do not have to move regularly," answered Teyla. "My people are hunters and traders. We farm a little now that we are more settled, but we have our own gate team that continues trade with our long allies."

"Got any recommendations for ex-Runners?"

"Crichton," Ronon broke in. "It took Sheppard a week to convince Weir to let me stay. She's responsible for the whole city; she has to be sure. Just give us a little time."

The offer surprised Crichton and he half laughed and was going to say something, but stopped when he saw the look in Ronon's eye. Ronon wasn't sure what he saw, but he knew that he meant it when he said, "I don't know about staying, but thanks."

* * *

He felt eyes on him. He heard whispers. There were people around every corner, working, walking, waiting. Not just a couple people, a couple hundred. Wary. He'd been alone for so long that he'd forgotten what if felt like. Forgotten what people felt like. Forgotten what humans felt like, how they thought. It shouldn't have been as strange as it was. 

_We haven't spoken to anyone in months.  
_

John talked to himself, talked to Harvey. Numbers and spirals talked to him and he was finally able to understand what they said. It didn't stop the mutters or the eyes.

_Stranger in a stranger land.  
_

Only I'm from way beyond Mars.

* * *

"No. Johnson's team tried that," Radek interrupted Rodney's suggestion of reversing the airflow. "Failsafes again and the added problem of more contamination."

"Only if it's not controlled properly. We modulate – "

"No, no, no. This is air we are talking about. Fluid mechanics! Is not simple equation!"

"I know what fluid mechanics is, thank you very much," Rodney snapped back. "And with the atmospheric controls we may be able to – "

"No." Radek cut his hand across Rodney's words. "It will never work. The microbes are too light and small."

Rodney knew he was right, but was unwilling to concede the point. He knew it was partly the hunger speaking as they carried the argument from the labs to the mess hall for food and desperately needed hot coffee, but it was no less frustrating. The entire day they'd spent working on solutions to their microbe problem, which surprise, surprise, was getting worse. Activating-other-microbes-that-had-been-brought-back-worse, and these bugs did things like corrode metal and emit acid fumes. The irony that their original function was most likely to do the opposite was lost on no one.

Radek threw out an idea for dousing the microbes in water that Rodney shot down while they cut in line for dinner. Rodney threw out an idea for using static electricity to bind them that Radek shot down while they settled in at a table. So deep were they in the rationalization of opinion that they both jumped when a third person landed in the seat next to Rodney. Crichton.

"McKay, right?"

"Excuse me?" Rodney blinked, still wondering where the hell he'd come from.

"You're name, right?"

"Yes. What do you want? Never mind. Go away, I'm busy." Rodney waved his hand in the general direction of someplace else that did nothing to make the former Runner leave.

"I just have a question," he said, thumping a stack of papers half an inch thick on the table. "Ronon said you could help."

"Yes probably, if I wasn't, I don't know, saving the city?" Rodney glared at Crichton who, of course, ignored him and instead went ahead and asked his question. It took a moment for Rodney's brain to catch up and realize he was talking nine dimensions and particle subspace. "Wait," Rodney snatched the piece of paper – paper! Ha! – out of the man's hands and looked at the . . . gibberish that was written there. "What is this crap?"

"Wormholes," Crichton cut him a look that clearly was revising his opinion of Rodney's usefulness.

"Yes, well that doesn't help if I can't read it." Rodney was curious in spite of himself. He could see patterns in the arabesque script but it was like looking at Ancient before he'd learned it.

Crichton took the piece of paper back and wrote a translation into human Arabic symbols of two of the lines. In this form they turned into something familiar, yet, "This is wrong." Rodney pointed to the first equation. He snatched the pen out of Crichton's hand and fixed it. "The time differential should only have two terms."

Crichton snatched the pen back and said, "This is right and not what I was asking about."

"Where did you get this? A Cracker Jack box? And you were asking about nine dimensions and particle subspace." Rodney then went on to detail why the two were incompatible – five max for working with wormholes – and why whatever Crichton had found was wrong and inconsistent with even expanded Ancient version of physics, overriding and ignoring Crichton's attempt to argue. Crichton finally just stopped trying and propped his head on his hand face blank and unreadable even as his eyes flickered intently back and forth across Rodney's face. Somewhere during all this, Radek took a look at the stack of papers and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, where did you get it? And better yet, why did you take it? It's trash, utter putrefying garbage and some poor sap's idea of science. And how can you even read this, I thought you were from an alternate Earth – oh, oh," Rodney glared as the penny dropped. "Ha ha, very funny. Did Sheppard put you up to this?"

Realizing that he was actually expected to answer, Crichton shook himself out of his stupor. "So that's how the circle thing works," he said.

"Yes," Rodney did not appreciate the sarcasm. "That's how the _stargate_ works." He was so going to get Sheppard for this. "I'm glad your two brain cells were able to rub that together."

Crichton looked annoyed but asked, "So what if the wormhole wasn't constrained by the circle thing? How would that affect the particle stability?"

Which was an utterly ridiculous and moronic question. "All right, fun's over," Rodney snapped. "I actually have real things to do and problems to solve so go back to bashing your head against the wall with Ronon."

"Just answer the question," Crichton bit out slowly, getting frustrated.

"It's a stupid question with no basis in reality and you couldn't possibly understand an answer if there was one and it came up and bit you."

"You know what? I don't need this." Crichton abruptly stood and snatched back his papers. "I get enough insults from Harvey."

"Good. Go before I call your guards to drag you away." Rodney waved him off, not bothering to watch him slither away with his tail between his legs, which was why he had a heart attack when Crichton's hand slammed down next to his tray.

"And I have had it," the crazy Runner shouted, "with all the damn threats!" He pushed off a step angrily. Every eye in the mess hall on him, wide eyed and surprised. Rodney felt his heart beating twenty times to fast. His Marine guards leveled their weapons at him, and by the window Ronon had stood up and started slowly over.

"Sir, please calm down," said one of the grunts.

"Calm," Crichton put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in a false sense of casual. The Marines approached slowly. Crichton half laughed and put his face in his hands. Rodney couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying. He let out a sigh of relief when the Marines reached him, only it turned out to be premature when Crichton spun and kicked one in the nuts and punched the other in between the eyes with the flat of his hand so hard he crumpled to the floor. He kicked their weapons out of their hands and a chair at Ronon who had come up behind him but hadn't yet attacked.

"Crichton, stop," he rumbled softly.

"No! He wanted to make a frelling scene," Crichton's finger pointed behind him at Rodney, "I'll give him one. I'm too stupid to know better after all. So don't you tell me to calm down, Ronon. I am fucking pissed off. Yes, the crazy man has lost his cool!" he shouted to the room at large. He kicked another chair into a table and sneezed. "And would you people stop opening the circle thing!"

A moment later Elizabeth's voice called over the command channel for a medical team to the gate room. Still stuck on the temper tantrum Crichton was holding in the middle of the room it took a minute for that to sink in. The room was awash in stunned silence.

Crichton's hands were back on his head his eyes were closed and he was breathing quickly. "I really shouldn't be around people right now," he said to Ronon who nodded and got close enough to lead the way out of the mess hall just as a squad of Marines came in guns blazing.

Ronon told the lieutenant, "I've got him," as Crichton glared fearlessly at the weapons aimed at him. Then they were gone.

Rodney let out an explosive breath and recognized the Czech Radek was speaking as curse words. "Was it just me, or did we just come this close to getting the shit beat out of us?"

"Perhaps this is a lesson for you to be nicer to people," said Radek. "Especially Runners who can knock out two Marines and write wormhole physics that confuses you."

"Oh, you can't possibly think he was serious about that." Rodney still wasn't sure what to make of it, but there was no way that whatever nonsense he'd written or copied –

"Rodney, did that look like a man wanting to play a joke on you?" Radek pointed to the Marines getting helped to their feet.

Frowning, Rodney had to admit that, no, it hadn't.

* * *

John stared at the ocean for hours. He'd yelled at Ronon for hours earlier. He'd yelled at Harvey too. Now it was him and the ocean, standing on the tip of a pier with nothing but sky and water before him. As desolate, and beautiful, as space. 

He knew there were guards somewhere nearby. He thought about jumping off, wondered if they'd save him from the waves. He thought about friends who would, the woman who loved him even as she ran away. His anger had left him as hollow as the view.

Damn these people to hell.

* * *

"Medical team to lab four! And wear hazmat suits!" shouted across the radios interrupted the impromptu meeting in Elizabeth's office cutting Ronon off mid argument. Elizabeth didn't bother asking for a report the scientists would be too busy to tell her and instead strode out to the transporter. Behind her, she heard John issue orders for the halls to be cleared between the labs and infirmary. It was a dubious sign that Atlantis's quarantine protocols hadn't been initiated. 

Radio traffic increased as Carson started asking questions and disturbing reports of acid fume inhalation came back from the labs. They were just coming in as Elizabeth arrived at the infirmary. Five people were on gurneys, oxygen masks firmly set over nose and mouth, and half the scientists working on the microbe problem were either walking wounded or helping behind them. Rodney and Hensley brought up the rear, neither looking the worse for the crisis as they joined Elizabeth and John outside the infirmary doors.

"What happened?"

"You know how some of the microbes started producing strong acids as opposed to consuming them? Well, they got into a water pipe," Rodney said as the sound of water spraying started up from beyond the infirmary doors.

"We don't know when or how," Hensely sighed. "At the rate they've been replicating it's hard to tell, but they corroded the pipes in lab four."

"The pipes burst, acid everywhere," Rodney finished. "Only the first five were in there. The rest got hit by the fumes when they came to help."

"How bad was it?" asked John.

"Bad," said Hensley. "I don't know how were going to clean it up. We need neutralizers that we don't have. The procedures for this kind of cleanup are nothing we anticipated."

"What's the likelihood of this happening again?"

"High?" Rodney reluctantly admitted. "I'll see if the geologists have any ideas for the minerals we need. As it is, the lab's lost and the ventilation system's toast. No one goes in there without a hazmat suit."

Elizabeth sighed heavily, not wanting to ask her next question. "Any progress on resolving this?"

Rodney's down-turned mouth tightened. "No." He looked over at John and Ronon and back. "We're still working on it. Which I should be getting back to."

"I want all the labs cleared of all non-essential personnel. If they can work elsewhere, that's where I want them to be. I also need a threat assessment to the rest of Atlantis."

"I've got people working on it already," said Hensley with a look at Rodney.

"Keep me posted." Rodney and Hensley both nodded and spun off, Rodney already issuing orders of his own. "Control," Elizabeth hit her radio. "Get me a head and location count and announce that the labs are off limits to personnel not cleared by Dr. McKay or Dr. Hensley due to contamination."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ronon, find me Crichton."

"He didn't do this."

"I know, but I want to know where he is, just in case." Ronon gave her a long look, but didn't argue further. "Let's get the situation resolved with him before we go around restricting everyone's movements."

With Ronon off and John calling in two more patrols, Elizabeth turned to the infirmary and her injured people.

* * *

Hustle and bustle and people in organized chaos. For once John didn't think it was his fault. Imagine that. Other people screwed up too. It was slightly comforting. 

_They are human.  
_

"Which means they'll find a way to sort this out."

_Like you are. _

The top was spinning spinning, always spinning. "Yes."

* * *

"Dr. Weir." Elizabeth tore her eyes from her laptop where status reports were coming in rapidly. Crichton had just arrived and was standing with his arms wrapped around his chest. His hair was damp and ruffled and he brought the smell of the sea with him from the pier. 

"Mr. Crichton, thank you for coming," Elizabeth gestured to the seat across from her. It was almost as if two days hadn't passed since their last meeting and yet it felt so long ago already. "I'm sure you saw on your way in that were in the middle of a crisis here, so I wanted to clear things up with you before we're swamped in even more problems."

"This is about the thing in the cafeteria?" asked Crichton, wincing. "I'm sorry about that."

"What you did was assault, Mr. Crichton," said Elizabeth crisply. "If you were one of my people, you'd be cooling your heels it the brig for a week. As a stranger here your position is much more precarious." Crichton scratched his head unsurprised.

"So what are you going to do about it?" he asked. "I'm already under guard."

"And you knocked out the guards that were on your detail." Elizabeth took a deep breath, hoping this was the right answer. "I can see that this whole situation has been stressful for you. Ronon's been defending your position," Elizabeth told him. "I also spoke with Dr. Heightmeyer for her professional opinion. They both agree that you do not pose a serious threat to Atlantis, and Ronon insists that short of shooting you there's not much we can do to control you."

"Well –"

"Now," Elizabeth interrupted. She didn't have time to argue. "I understand that you were speaking with Dr. McKay just before your outburst and that he was insulting, derogatory, and rude."

Crichton's lips twitched into a clenched jaw. "Ronon told me that was a permanent fixture of his personality.

"Yes, well, he grows on you," Elizabeth agreed.

"Like fungus?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his choice of words and got a hard stare in return. "So I take it you're not shooting me?"

"No," said Elizabeth. "I'm not even going to throw you in the brig. I am going to ask you for your promise that this will not happen again, and then I'm going to trust you to keep it."

Crichton blinked a few times as a smile tried to break free. Disbelief was written in every fidget. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Elizabeth began, but was cut off by commotion on the causeway.

"Dr. Weir," Rodney stormed into her office with Drs. Gibbs and Lucien from Chemistry mulishly following. "Tell these knuckleheads that destroying their experiments will be the least of their problems if they do not give me the compounds I need to neutralize the acid and poison the Spores from Hell."

"He is asking for all of our supplies," Dr. Gibbs protested. "All our work from the past months will be lost! We cannot just throw it all away. There must be something else we can try."

"Oh, and what have I been doing for the last three days," demanded Rodney, throwing up his hands. "If you hadn't notice we have a lab flooded by acid and more microbes reproducing like bunnies producing more acid fumes."

"Our supplies would not put a dent in it," said Dr. Lucien. "It is pointless to waste our work."

"You have an acid flood?" Crichton's incredulous tones broke into the argument.

Rodney turned and noticed him for the first time. "Yes. And what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in shackles?"

"Rodney," Elizabeth said warningly.

"Right, fine. The point is, I need every neutralizer they have, and anything that might remotely have a chance at killing these things. I do not care if this means they have to twiddle their thumbs until they get resupplied."

"But our work!"

"Doctors," said Elizabeth sharply. "I'm afraid you're not going to win this one. I need you to turn over whatever Dr. McKay needs." The grief was apparent on their faces. They were relatively new to Atlantis and hadn't been directly exposed to the dangers living here could present, but one science experiment was the least of her worries at the moment. They left after a few more protests and a promise of written complaints.

"The things I must put up with," said Rodney as he appropriated Elizabeth's coffee. Under the circumstances, Elizabeth let him get away with it, keeping an eye on their guest, just in case, but Crichton simply rubbed a hand over his face, apparently not taking the details of the current crisis very well.

"You know it's too bad this isn't a ship and you can't just space the microbes," he said letting his hand drop heavily to his lap. "Or burn them. They're not sentient are they? 'Cause it sucks when they are."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at that comment, but Rodney beat her to the questions. "That's . . . not impossible." His tone changed mid sentence from scorn to break-through.

"Rodney?"

"I just had an idea," he said, and before Elizabeth could ask what, he was out the door and yelling over his shoulder, "I'll be back when I know it works," leaving Elizabeth and Crichton staring at each other in bewilderment.

"I hope the Shroom's plans are better than mine," Crichton finally said. Elizabeth couldn't help the smile, or the small sense of relief in knowing that Rodney had a plan. But even as she wondered what part of Crichton's comment had set of the spark of inspiration, she couldn't help but be curious. He was from an alternate Earth, or claimed to be, but those tired eyes spoke of more than Earth, hidden beneath the surface.

* * *

"Does this whole trust thing strike you as odd?" 

_No.  
_

"Are you saying that to make me feel better or to lure me into a false sense of security?"

_ Don't be ridiculous, John. Your kind has an odd sense of trust and a love of denial, so, no, I am not surprised that you are being trusted to mind your manners. This was a skill you acquired in kindergarten, was it not? Don't judge a book by its cover, treat others as you would like others to treat you, share the milk and cookies.  
_

"Shut up."

_ You're the one who aided and abetted the escape of fugitives on your first day.  
_

"That was different."

_ How? _

"I was in trouble and naïve and they were my best bet. One that paid off." Harvey didn't answer. John didn't need him too.

* * *

Rodney's idea required tricking Atlantis into thinking the city was in space. John didn't follow all the details. There was something about nonactivated protocols for when the stardrive was offline that could handle fires and isolation when ventilation shut off. All John remembered was sitting in the chair for days thinking about vacuum and microbes with Rodney yelling in his ear every time his concentration wavered – that had about put John in need of a hearing aid. 

In the end, it was rather anticlimactic. There were no more explosions or acid bombings, just ten hours of the rewired ventilation system pumping all the air out of the lab section of the city into an air lock that they didn't even know was there where a complicated filter system was jury rigged to separate the microbes from the atmosphere. The whole thing had taken almost a week to set up and carry out, and while not working perfectly or without two computer crashes and a busted set of pipes, it did work. The rest was just clean up.

Peering through the airlock door at six inches worth of vacuum sealed microbes, finer than mud, John had no idea what they were going to do next. Beside him Rodney huffed out a little breath of satisfaction.

"You know, we could just leave them here," John suggested.

"And wait for them to attack again?" Rodney retorted. "We'll leave them tonight and burn them first thing in the morning. If they weren't toxic, I'd bring marshmallows."

"Rodney," John tilted his head at the window. "It's a vacuum."

"Which is why we are going to pump O2 in slowly first," Rodney said carefully with that look that said why-do-you-bother-opening-your-mouth.

"Burning." The idea did have an appeal. "Good idea."

"Hmm, yes. Crichton's actually."

John turned in surprise. "What?"

"Both parts. The inspiration, I mean. I came up with all the details of course. Well, Radek helped. And a few of the biologists and chemists." He waved a hand at the giant array of filters.

John smirked at the almost admission of credit with what had been a monumental effort by the whole science department. Geology had even found limestone deposits on the southern coast of the mainland so they could clean up the acid spills.

"Is Crichton staying?"

"What? Oh. I don't know," John pulled himself back to the present. "We haven't offered him a place here, if that's what you're asking. Ronon and Teyla made a case for him, before all this. We're still thinking about it." Since John had been monopolized for his gene he hadn't had a chance to really talk to Crichton or Elizabeth about it yet. "Why?"

"I've just been thinking about this crazy question he asked about nine dimensional wormholes. Impossible of course given our current theory, but there was something there – " Rodney lifted his chin a bit " – that might be worth looking into. May even help get him where he belongs."

"Rodney," John couldn't help but tease. "Are you trying to steal the man's ideas?"

The scientists rolled his eyes. "He probably copied them off a wall somewhere. I thought it was a joke at first, but after he kicked your sergeant in the balls I'm less inclined to think he even cared about playing practical jokes."

"So now you want to pick his brain?"

"I want him to translate the papers it's all written down on."

"What papers?"

"The ones he brought from wherever he found the data."

John didn't remember any papers in the Runner's possession when they'd searched his things. In fact, hadn't Crichton _asked_ for paper from Elizabeth? "Rodney, he didn't bring any papers with him. He must have written that stuff here."

Rodney's jaw opened a bit. "But that's . . ." He straightened abruptly with a look on his face of a man with a mission that John loved to see in a crisis but hated at any other time. "If he wrote that himself maybe we should ask him to stay."

"What?" asked John, not sure where this was going. They could already make wormholes after all.

"Think about it. He wrote potentially groundbreaking work on wormholes, except he did so in an alien writing. He said, 'if we were on a ship' when he talked about spacing the microbes, and he implied that he'd met sentient microbes before. He's been very comfortable with this whole alternate universe thing and added to the fact that he hasn't even tried to kill anyone except for the sergeant's future children, I'd say that makes him a little valuable to us. If was off Earth before becoming a Runner he might have a wealth of information that could help us." Rodney ticked off each point as he made them.

John nodded once, then stopped. Off of Earth? "When did you have time to think about this?" John wondered aloud.

"I thought the nine dimensional wormhole thing was a joke and was trying to figure out how he came up with it," said Rodney. "But there were a couple things nagging me about it."

"So that made you think harder about it and – "

"Come to the conclusion that it's possible outside of a stargate system." Rodney finished. "You know what's crazier?"

"That the Marines say Crichton talks to a voice in his head named Harvey?" John asked, managing to derail Rodney's train of thought.

"You mean he really is psychotic? Great, that's just great."

John shrugged at his friend's comic disgust. "Wouldn't you be?"

"Ronon isn't. Much," he amended at John's raised eyebrow. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"The crazy part of all this."

"Oh, yes. I think that's how he arrived here." John waited for clarification in the face of Rodney's declaration. "Through a nine dimensional wormhole."

"You mean without a stargate."

"Yes."

John thought about asking, but Rodney himself had admitted that he hadn't thought it possible either before a few days ago. His brain probably wouldn't wrap around it anyway. "So . . ."

"I think we should ask Crichton to stay." Rodney's chin came up defensively as if he were expecting John to say no. Which wasn't an invalid assumption considering the fact that strangers these days made everyone nervous, but even he could see the benefits of a wormholes without stargates that could connect to other galaxies without a power output. And a guy who could come up with that probably was a good idea to have around anyway. Not antagonizing him by kicking him out was probably good thinking too.

"I'll talk to Elizabeth about it in the morning," said John.

"Good." Rodney patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going to go collapse now."

John smiled and joined Rodney for the walk back to the transporters.

* * *

John was hallucinating. For real. Not Harvey but home. Moya home. It was the not sleeping thing kicking his ass but at the moment he just wanted it to be real. His chest had gotten tight when Weir and the Shroom had asked him to stay, all self righteous and Hynerian, and missing Rygel meant he was in bad shape. 

Back in his room he curled up forehead to the floor, the crinkle of paper all around him.

_Didn't you want to stay? _

John didn't answer. He missed the low rumble, the fierce hug, the calm voice, the gentle hum. The strong presence that let him know he wasn't alone. Lost once more.

The silence born of the morning interruption brought crashing down what he'd been avoiding by working for days straight. Starting over.

* * *

Rodney found Crichton eating breakfast with Ronon and Teyla on his first day as a member of the Atlantis expedition. Both his teammates smiled warmly when he approached and took his usual chair. Crichton even mustered a polite nod and "good morning," that so surprised Rodney, he stared until Ronon kicked him. 

"Yes, good morning. Hi." He forced a smile and Crichton grinned back.

"So I never thanked you yesterday," said Crichton. "For getting Weir to let me stay."

"Yes, well," Rodney dropped his eyes to his tray. "You did give me an idea for the microbe problem," he said quickly giving credit where credit was due. "And your ideas on wormholes might have some merit to them."

Crichton's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, dropping down with a clatter. "You're kidding me."

"What? I thought about it. I am capable of admitting I'm wrong." Both Teyla and Ronon snorted. "I am." When Crichton laughed that was just the icing on the cake to him being nice to the guy, which was pretty significant considering.

"Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I figured out what I was going to ask you," said Crichton.

"Well, maybe I could help with the rest of it?" Rodney asked, cursing his voice for sounding so plaintive.

Crichton eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Why?" Rodney spluttered. "Because you're talking about wormholes unconstrained by a stargate or power needs that can cross universes and galaxies. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?"

"I have an idea how much someone will torture me for it."

This time it was Rodney who froze, along with his teammates who were just as shocked by that bald statement.

"Sorry if I'm a little twitchy about it," said Crichton going back to his food.

Rodney didn't know what to say to that so he looked at his teammates. Neither one of them said anything for a moment. "By the Wraith?" Ronon finally asked.

"No. This is back where I'm from."

"Earth?" said Teyla incredulously.

A small smile crossed Crichton's face. "No. After Earth."

"After Earth?" asked Rodney but he thought he knew what that meant. The astronaut who'd met aliens before and probably learned some very interesting things in the process. "What does that mean?" he asked wanting to find out more.

"Shroom, I don't even know you," said Crichton. "I'm not sure I even like you. And even if I did, I still probably wouldn't tell you because I don't want to talk about it."

Not tell him? Of all the stupid reasons – " 'Shroom'?" Rodney spluttered. "Did you just call me 'Shroom'?"

"Apparently, you grow on people," Crichton smiled with more teeth than kindness.

"Who said that?" asked Ronon, who of course was laughing, and Rodney saw the smile on Teyla's face, the traitors.

"Weir when she was chewing me out."

"Oh, she did, did she?"

"Rodney," said Teyla soothingly. "You do grow on people."

"Not like fungus!" Rodney denied, but they were still laughing at him.

"Calm down, McKay. We're saying we like you," Ronon grinned and nudged his elbow.

A little mollified, Rodney grumbled, "you have a funny way of showing it."

"So what will you be doing here?" Ronon returned to Crichton who shrugged.

"My skills have yet to be assessed," he said. "McKay here seems to think I'm smart." He gave Rodney an odd half smile.

Rodney snorted. "You said you were an astronaut. They don't just let anyone fly billion dollar space craft."

"Commander Crichton at your service."

"What's your first name?" asked Ronon curiously.

"John."

"John. That's a great name." Sheppard's voice startled Rodney when he came up from behind. The Colonel thumped his tray down next to Teyla and gave everyone a hello grin before digging into his powdered eggs. "Military?"

"Civilian."

"Which means scientist," said Rodney, really interested now. That meant at minimum a Masters most likely a PhD and if the wormhole work was anything to go by, it was in physics. Which was good because he could always use someone else who understood Newton's Laws and Relativity.

"Maybe I'm a school teacher."

Rodney nearly choked on his toast and quickly revised his opinion of Crichton: he was a son of a bitch. The snickers from the peanut gallery didn't help. "What did you teach, basket weaving?" he demanded sarcastically once his throat was clear.

"Manners," said Crichton sitting back.

"I don't have time for manners," Rodney replied. "They are inefficient and filled with lies." He snapped his fingers. "Your degree? Podunk College? Backwater University?"

"MIT."

Okay. Rodney hadn't expected that. "Physics?" he asked hopefully.

Crichton nodded. "Cosmic Sciences."

"Ph.D?"

Crichton nodded.

"What was your thesis?"

"It was on the theoretical use of a planet's atmosphere to achieve high speeds in space craft." Crichton smiled fondly. "It works too."

"How fast?" asked Sheppard, shifting forward in his seat eagerly, and Rodney rolled his eyes when Crichton grinned, pure flyboy.

"Really fast," he said.

"Yes, wonderful. We have hyperdrives." But Rodney's sarcasm was wasted on them as Sheppard started talking about the puddle jumpers and their capabilities. A brand new pseudo scientist with really interesting ideas on wormholes and he had to be a pilot who could care less about furthering science. The torture thing was unfortunate, and having been on the business end of a knife, Rodney understood, he did, but you couldn't live life in fear. You had to press on or the bad guys won.

"Rodney?"

"What?"

"He's asking about the engines," said Sheppard. "I know what they give me but not how they work."

"Oh." Crichton was watching him guardedly and repeated his question on power and efficiency. As Rodney answered, he thought maybe this wouldn't turn out so badly after all. And if he proved too annoying, Rodney could always give him to Zelenka.

* * *

He still got funny looks. He still stopped conversations when he came into a room. He still wasn't given the time of day. He still was crazy. 

_ You are not crazy.  
_

I still talk to you.

_Hardly conclusive.  
_

Why the sudden support?

Harvey didn't answer and John didn't fret about it. Instead he went back to his room, but breakfast had thrown his concentration off. He kept thinking about the pure amazement on McKay's face when he'd talked about the possibilities, the joy on Sheppard's when he'd described the puddle jumpers, Teyla and Ronon's fond smiles. It really hit him then, in his gut, that he was back among humans.

* * *

Ronon found Crichton at the very top of the tallest tower on the East Pier. He'd set off a minor panic when he'd disappeared before dinner, and another when the sensors located him outside of the occupied city. There had been questions, doubts, but Ronon knew that Crichton just needed to get away for a bit before everything came crashing down on him, so he'd told Weir he'd handle it and set out on foot. It was a nice night for a walk anyway. 

Coming to Atlantis had saved Ronon's life in more ways than one, but deciding to stay had been the hardest decision he'd made since leaving Sateda. It was so very different from any place he had been, the people of Earth were so hopeful and uncowed. Ronon hadn't known whether he could stand to work with them, live with them, fight with them, but in the end he couldn't fathom settling down to scratch out a humble living in the dirt. He'd been tired, yes, but he'd found a sort of peace on Atlantis that he hadn't been looking for. He hoped Crichton would find the same.

It was cold at the top of the tower. Evening had given way to darkness when he started the long walk that culminated in the endless stairs that opened directly onto the roof. Crichton lay on his back with the sky and a million stars above, barely moving when Ronon sat down beside him. He still wore the clothes he wore as a Runner, even though he'd been issued a uniform and was slated to start work tomorrow with the scientists. Small stuff, McKay had said, with plenty of time to work on whatever he wanted.

A flutter of paper caught in the breeze only this one wasn't like all the others Ronon had seen in Crichton's room, covered in alien math. On this one there were dots with names beside them, and it took a moment for Ronon to recognize them as the brightest stars in the sky. A few were loosely connected into constellations distinct from the ones of the Ancestors.

"Do you know where your homeworld is?" asked Crichton in not much more than a whisper.

"You can't see it from here," replied Ronon just as quietly, "but it's beyond those three in a triangle there." He pointed up and to the south toward home. "Earth is that way," he added, swinging his arm to the east.

"Earth," Crichton breathed the word. "I haven't been on Earth in four years."

Ronon dropped his eyes from the stars to look at the man beside him. "That's a long time not to have a home."

"No, I had one," said Crichton. "She ran away. Then I ended up here."

Ronon didn't know whether he was surprised or not. Didn't know what to say. He knew there was nothing he could say that would mean anything so instead he looked up at the stars. Eternal, past and present. Planets, people. Galaxies, universes. Wraith. Hope.

"What's done cannot be undone," said Crichton into the blackness. To the stars and the life he'd lost.

No, thought Ronon in silent agreement, but there was always a road ahead, another stargate to pass through, and no telling what was on the other side.

* * *

One star. It wasn't in the sky. Not this sky, not visible. 

But the top spun and the wheel turned and one day . . .maybe fate would smile on them.

* * *


	3. Part III

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow  
by Tassos

See Part I for story notes.

* * *

_"What bloody man is that?"  
Macbeth, 1. 2_

Part III  
**Skin**

John's first thought on waking was 'I have to go to work today.' He had scheduled meetings. Orientation. A time table. There were probably punch cards involved. He wondered if he was going to get paid. It's not like they didn't feed him – or clothe him – or have free movies and popcorn.

_ First day! Harvey had busted out John's neon blue backpack from the fifth grade and his Batman lunchbox. He wore a suit and tie with yellow suspenders.  
_

All the other kids are going to laugh at you.

_ They're going to love me.  
_

John rolled to his feet, the morning chill both refreshing and a gentle shock. He had no idea what time it was other than sunrise marked by the warm glow through his window. The view was spectacular, nothing but ocean and alien buildings. John didn't miss the wilderness, that was certain.

He showered and shaved. Dr. Weir had offered him a proper haircut and set him up for an appointment after lunch. 1300. One o'clock. It still felt strange telling time by the hour instead of counting from now or the watch change. Strange but familiar, too, like an old skin settling, shifting, trying to find a place in old grooves worn and not quite a fit.

The uniform he'd been issued was neatly folded on the chair, the pair of military boots on the floor underneath. The pants were cotton, stiff with newness and charcoal grey. Blue shirts, one short sleeve, one long, and a jacket, also charcoal grey, blue panels on the front. Color coded. Black, blue, green, yellow, and red. Another rainbow, but of jobs not skin.

In the end, John pulled on the long sleeved shirt, but kept his leather pants and boots from another military. He left the jacket on the chair.

_Really, John, you must move on.  
_

I am moving on. Just not ready to let go.

* * *

Crichton was late. Rodney had specifically told him to arrive half an hour early so Michaels could get him set up with a laptop, radio, and bench space before the weekly Physics and Engineering meeting. He was now ten minutes late and Michaels said he hadn't seen him at breakfast. He shifted on his feet as he told Rodney this.

"Did you try his quarters?" Rodney said with exaggerated patience wondering why he had to do all the thinking around here. Michaels jerked a nod.

"I went there first. There was no answer. No one's seen him." Michaels bravely met Rodney's eye as he spoke, clearly expecting to get yelled at, which Rodney was going to do, in a minute. First, though, he tapped his radio twice.

"Ronon, have you seen Crichton?"

The channel crackled to life. "Yeah," his teammate's voice rumbled. We're having breakfast. What's up?"

"He's ten minutes late. Where are you?"

"Balcony outside the mess hall." Rodney had the pleasure of watching Michaels flush in embarrassment when Rodney repeated the location.

"Tell him he has till Michaels gets there to finish." He clicked off his radio and didn't even have to say 'go' before Michaels was on his way. "Imbecile," he muttered.

He was going over the agenda for the meeting when Michaels showed up _with_ Crichton this time who looked not at all contrite but entirely too chipper for the beginning of the day.

"Sorry about that, Shroom, I don't have a watch," Crichton smiled all charm and good cheer. Too like Sheppard for comfort, actually.

"Stop calling me that," said Rodney. "I take it asking someone for the time was too far beyond your capabilities?"

The stare he got this time reminded him too much of Ronon. "I haven't missed the meeting yet."

"Yes, and it's all okay because I didn't have paperwork and things I needed you to get over with before the meeting," Rodney bit out. "You'll have to do it at lunch because the meeting starts _now_." He stood and snatched his laptop and his empty mug off the table. "Michaels, coffee," he shoved the mug at the idiot's face. Like a good minion in the doghouse, Michaels took it without complaint. Crichton just stood there like a lump, so Rodney snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. "You, move."

Crichton stared for a second longer before complying. "You know you're an ass," he said conversationally.

Rodney just rolled his eyes. Everyone in this galaxy knew that. "Yes, and I'm also the boss who happens to save this city on a daily basis. Move." The two other people who had space in Rodney's lab were heading them out the door to the room with all the screens that they used for meetings and joint projects.

"Whatever." Crichton rolled his shoulders like a teenager. Zelenka was getting him. Dealing with Sheppard was bad enough and they were friends.

"All right people," Rodney took his seat and called the meeting to order. Michaels set his coffee beside his tablet, and Rodney took a long gulp and waved his hand in Radek's general direction. "Update me."

* * *

The meeting was actually pretty interesting. There were a lot of projects going on among the physicists and engineers. They handled most of the city maintenance like the water supply, power distribution from their limited source, the little ships Sheppard was telling him about, and anything that broke. In addition there were investigations into alternate power sources, a team on the Ancient database which sounded like a library from the previous residents, a couple groups that worked on Atlantis exploration and offworld discoveries, and one that worked on Wraith technology. On top of that were a few projects of pure science: investigations into dark matter and dark energy, distant stellar phenomena, and particle physics based on Ancient work.

It was pretty cool stuff, from the maintenance to the research. It was weird, almost like sitting back home with DK and the team working on the Farscape Project. Weird and followed by a jolt of homesickness for Earth and a life he didn't think he could go back to.

It took him a bit by surprise when McKay announced, "This is John Crichton, Physics from MIT in his universe. He'll be working on wormholes for the time being. I need a proposal and list of equipment and supplies in my inbox by the end of the week," he added, looking at John.

"Proposal?" was all he thought to say.

"Noun: words strung together into sentences detailing what you plan to study and why," McKay snapped. "If you hadn't been late this morning, we would have already gone over this."

"Right," said John, wondering when the guy would get over it already. "When's the end of the week?"

"Three days," said the chief engineer. Fuzzy hair, accent, in charge of the puddle jumpers and the maintenance schedule.

McKay had already moved on to yelling at people for late paperwork and something about a data burst and the SGC. He was halfway through cutting off the third attempt at excuses when the little things fell together from conversation over the past few days and John realized that McKay was talking about sending reports back to Earth. Specifically the US Air Force.

John sat back and felt the blood drain from his face and tingle in his fingertips.

_You're not going to let that stop you, are you, John? Harvey leaned forward in his seat between the desalinization guy and the Japanese woman in charge of one of the energy grids. Harvey wasn't dressed up and he looked John in the eye, unblinking and hard.  
_

John stared back, awash in memories that had faded with a year in the wilderness. What he'd fought for, what _they_ had put their lives on the line for – lives lost, broken, hunted into madness.

"No one should have that power," he told Harvey. Not even him, although he was as close as anyone but the Ancients had come.

_You will, Harvey read his thoughts.  
_

It took a moment for John to realize that everyone was staring at him. He blinked and Harvey was back in his head.

"Yes? You had something to share with the group" asked McKay who barreled on when John took too long to answer. "No? Then don't interrupt. Where was I?"

John didn't hear a word of the rest of the meeting.

* * *

The first time Ronon got Crichton on the mat it was because Sheppard had ordered an evaluation. "Everyone has to do it," the Colonel had told the former Runner at breakfast the day after he'd settled into McKay's department. Crichton had a haircut and looked more like those from Earth than before, but there was still a wild glint in his eyes as he argued against it. He caved in the end, more Ronon thought, so he could smack Sheppard's resolute cheerfulness off his face.

They were starting with hand-to-hand, and Ronon as the chief instructor, got first crack at him. Crichton had refused to change into more comfortable clothing as the Marines sometimes did for training. He showed up, resentful and full of attitude, in his blue science shirt and the leather pants he hadn't yet given up. He glared at Sheppard who only grinned sardonically in response, and swept his eyes over the more crowded than usual gym.

"What is this?" he said quietly as he joined Ronon in the center of the room. "They expecting a show?"

Ronon shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "If you want to give them one."

"Just a warning: I fight dirty," said Crichton taking a step back. Ronon was half a breath into a reply when Crichton's fist came at his face. No time to block, he jerked back and got clipped on the cheek, a burst of bright pain, quickly lost to the flurry of the fight that was suddenly raging. Ronon had been right when he'd thought it'd be a hell of a fight. Crichton was quick and used tactics and tricks that worked against bigger and stronger opponents. He'd learned against the Wraith, no doubt, with an inkling of something else, something missing behind his style that Ronon couldn't put a finger on. It went back and forth, attack and retreat, until suddenly Crichton danced back out of range and said, "I'm done," and stopped.

Breathing hard, every eye on him in surprise as he glared back, Crichton turned to Sheppard. "Look, I'm sick of this. I'm not a dancing bear and I'm not playing in your circus anymore. McKay asked me to work for him, so I'm working for him. You owe me Angelica and Whitney."

Ronon cursed under his breath, worked up from the fight. What was his problem with fighting anyway, but Ronon knew the answer underneath the burning desire to just attack again out of spite. Just to push Crichton, make him fight back – like the Wraith had done.

Sheppard sent the rest of the room about their business with a glance as Ronon came to a stop halfway between him and Crichton. As schooled as ever in the face of a surprise, his teammate lifted his eyebrows at the names. "Angelica and Whitney?" There was no one on Atlantis called that.

"My knives. Since I'm no longer a prisoner and all."

It clicked then, how Crichton fought like he was missing part of himself. Ronon would have won this fight because of that, and probably one against him armed, but it would have cost him.

Sheppard nodded and said, "You'll get them, and your pistol." Ronon could see him giving up on the firearms test. "I'm assuming you can hit the broad side of a barn with it?"

"Narrow side too," said Crichton with the hint of a mirthless grin. "We done here?"

The Colonel nodded, "I guess so."

"Good," said Crichton, already looking over at Ronon. "Meet you for lunch?"

It was a peace offering as much as their normal routine, so Ronon held back the juvenile sigh and nodded. "I'll come by the lab."

"Cool. Later." He brushed by Sheppard as he left, not quite close enough to be an insult, strolling out as if he owned the place.

"That is one stubborn man," Sheppard commented when the doors closed.

Ronon snorted at the understatement. "He made his point." He went to grab a towel from the bench, the need to fight still humming beneath his skin.

"Yeah?" said Sheppard, turning with him.

"He's good," Ronon replied. "As good as any of the Marines in hand to hand. Better with his knives, I bet."

"He's self taught – and the Wraith sure make one hell of a motivation," Sheppard agreed. "Beckett says he's had more than a few recent broken bones."

Ronon expected nothing less. The Wraith were a hard enemy, relentless and unending. "He'll refuse a field assignment," he said. "Even a temporary one."

Sheppard grimaced, frustrated but accepting. "I know."

* * *

John fiddled with his laptop as if it were the first time he'd seen one. They were better than when he'd left. Thinner, faster, but still bogged down by Windows, although there was a set of programs he'd never seen before meant for serious number crunching. Games were still on there: Solitaire, Minesweeper, Hearts. So were a few of the previous owner's files that had been missed. Crichton was drawn to those and spent his day trying to understand the zero point energy and cascading functions that distributed power through the city from two pages of typed notes, a spreadsheet, and four longwinded emails from McKay.

It's no surprise that he understood it about as much as he understood hetch engines, but he did figure out that the Shroom was a demanding boss who tells it like it is good and bad, and that the laptop was completely inadequate for writing down anything related to wormholes. There are only two dimensions and one direction to write in, and a keyboard with not enough symbols and all the wrong combinations. It was reassuring. His work would be harder to steal and incomprehensible if it was. There was no one here to yank it out of his head after all.

No one to pester him about progress either. The Shroom was wrapped up in his own work and the other three people with space in his lab were similarly occupied, speaking in low voices.

John couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think in straight lines, much less around corners, and he couldn't shake the burning desire to play golf in the halls. Harvey hated golf and had been pestering him instead to a chess match ever since they'd seen a pair of guys playing in the mess hall. John hated chess. Too much sacrifice.

The wormhole formed four times during the day before Sheppard came by at dinner time. He'd done it the day before as well, so John figured it was a regular thing for him to make sure McKay ate. They argued and bitched until McKay caved and they left, the other three scientists checking their watches and taking a break too. The woman, Dr. Simpson, glanced over her shoulder at him but looked nervous about issuing an invitation so didn't.

_Well that was rude.  
_

John shrugged and turned off his laptop. "They don't know me."

_They don't like you.  
_

"They don't know me."

The mess hall was crowded and the line long when he got there. Clusters of people sat chatting. Soldiers, scientists, a few mixed groups. Ronon and Teyla with Sheppard and McKay, all laughing together over a story McKay told. Smiles, arguments, fast, brilliant, noisy. John felt like a rock in a raging river, and escaped with his meal out onto the balcony.

* * *

It was crisp outside, early evening fading to sunset as Elizabeth followed Crichton onto the balcony. He turned as soon as he heard her, greeting her with a hollow smile.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked. It was the first time she'd spoken to him outside of her office. He gestured at the seat across from him.

"What's up?"

Elizabeth smiled at the Earth greeting. "Just want to see how your first three days have been."

"Oh, you know. New guy at the office. No hazing unless you count Colonel Sheppard's physical evaluation."

Their talk on the matter had been brief and rueful on John's behalf. Hell of fighter, just not a willing one. "Ronon says you have a lot of skill."

"I know when to quit when I'm ahead," Crichton shrugged, staring at his plate. "I manage not to get killed."

He was being modest. Ronon's praise was not lightly given, and surviving the Wraith more or less in one piece was more than just not getting killed. Crichton's body language was closed off, however, so Elizabeth didn't push the point. "How are you settling into the Science Department?" she asked instead.

Crichton shrugged again, looking up. "Just dandy. Anything in particular you wanted to know?"

The challenge startled Elizabeth, and she smiled to acknowledge that yes, it could be construed as checking up on him. Which she was, but not maliciously. "Just let me know if you're having problems," she said. "Dr. McKay can sometimes be difficult to work with."

"Everyone's been leaving me alone," said Crichton. But that was what worried her. Social isolation was not healthy, for him or the rest of the expedition. She understood how difficult it could be having changed schools in high school, but there was no way anyone besides Ronon could fully understand that depth of this change from Running to Atlantis. She was glad that at least they were becoming friends.

"Has anyone sent you the social calendar?" she asked.

Crichton's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "You guys have a social calendar?"

Smiling, Elizabeth nodded. "What's an outpost without recreational activities to boost morale?" she asked. "We have movie nights, a bridge club, chess club, Mensa chapter, a few poker nights according to gender and profession," Elizabeth enjoyed the genuine smile that emerged at that. "There's also a running club for the civilians, a basketball hoop set up on the north pier, and regular badminton tournaments that have become quite the spectator sport."

"Badminton?" Crichton was chuckling now with disbelief.

"It's a Chinese thing apparently," Elizabeth told him. "We have to have Marines on duty for the matches."

"That bad?"

"Worse than the soccer games on the Mainland."

"Badminton hooligans." Crichton shook his head at the thought.

"Did you play any sports?"

Crichton shrugged, smile still hovering. "Football when I was a kid."

"A bunch of the Marines play," Elizabeth commented, unsurprised, but Crichton clearly wanted no part of that.

"And you notice that they're twenty years younger than me," he said. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"We'll find you something to do." Elizabeth wasn't about to let him become another antisocial scientist under her command, not when he'd spent more than a year isolated from human contact. He needed to reconnect with people, start living life again for the details instead of the necessities.

"I hope you're not suggesting badminton."

"I suppose running is out, too," she added, narrowing her eyes in thought. What could he do? What would he do? Nothing too physical if what John said was true, or at least physical with Marines. There was the astronomy and constellation club that was systematically categorizing and making up silly stories about the night sky. The fishing club that never caught anything. The Rodney McKay Impersonation Troupe that she wasn't supposed to know about. She threw suggestions out which Crichton both laughed at and turned down, in a conversation rife with the vagaries of what people would do to stave off boredom, which soon turned to college extracurriculars and something Elizabeth would call a friendly conversation.

Crichton had been on the solar car team and a member of the Society Against Cruelty to Chimpanzees, a group against the some of the practices in the biological research group on campus and medical testing at large. In turn, Elizabeth shared a few stories about her political work as a student and being so nervous when she met President Carter that she ended up telling him where he had gone wrong.

It was easy and as if they weren't two people from different universes sitting in another galaxy in the Lost City of Atlantis. When he let his guard down, Crichton's sarcasm melted into a pleasant sense of humor and genuine charm. He had a gift for storytelling that Elizabeth suspected included much embellishment to go with the drawl that emerged when he spoke of running from the sheriff after a night of cow tipping. He was a different man, the younger incarnation he described softening the wary fighter before her into something less intimidating than the knives and leather pants. At this moment, he wasn't a man who had lost everything turned feral, but one like many she had known in her life, someone worth laughing with and caring for, worth her trust.

It was always a risk allowing people into the city. Sometimes it panned out, often it didn't, but Elizabeth felt she had made the right decision about Crichton.

* * *

At breakfast, Ronon told John that he would be gone on a mission for a few days. Trade talks, don't worry if he didn't see Ronon at lunch. After they parted with a hasty good luck between them, John made his way to the lab, alone and realizing that it wasn't just that people were slow to take to the new guy, but that he hadn't been making it easy on them.

He couldn't remember the last person he had touched other than Ronon on the mat. He couldn't remember the last conversation that hadn't felt awkward in his mouth other than with Harvey in his head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd introduced himself first. With the epiphany came the sudden weight of loneliness that had been hidden amongst all the people here.

On the threshold of the lab, John stopped and for once took in the room. In the back corner was his desk where he had done nothing substantial since starting work. Two benches loaded with computers and Ancient tech cut through the room. McKay's side was empty, but Michaels, Simpson, and Revsbech were already around their computers with their energy project. John had no idea what they were actually doing beyond trying to power the city.

All three stopped what they were doing and stared when he came over. John was suddenly back in his first day on Moya and his first glimpse of aliens. Mentally shaking himself, he knew this shouldn't be that hard. He still said "hi."

"Dr. Crichton, hi," replied Simpson. John had to fight not to jump back.

"Please, just Crichton or John," he said. "I barely remember anything I learned in school."

"John then." Simpson's smile was a little less than forced. "What can we do you for?"

"Oh, I was just, you know, wondering what you were actually doing," he said. "He waved a hand vaguely toward his bench. "It's kind of lonely in the corner."

"Well," said Revsbech, his voice slightly colored by an unfamiliar accent. "We are generally looking into alternate power sources. Specifically that means scratching our heads for most of the day." His smile was genuine before he launched into more detail than John was prepared to handle. It was an oddly familiar feeling that went along with being the fish out of water, but at the same time, disconcerting to be part of this conversation. Even that faded away into a different kind of familiarity, however, as John stopped thinking and just paid attention.

It turned out that he learned more about zero point energy and Atlantis's power systems than he ever imagined needing to know.

"When the next catastrophe happens, you better believe, you'll be happy to know," said Michaels, whose first name was Phil, when John mentioned it over lunch.

"City exploration's been pretty tame lately," Simpson – Caitlin – lightly slapped her colleague's arm.

"Forget exploration, I was talking about the blackout that chemistry caused in the south tower labs."

"Oh, yeah," said Revsbech – Erik. "McKay nearly killed Bourget."

"You haven't seen in him a fit yet," Caitlin told John. "You thought he was bad at the staff meeting, you haven't seen anything until someone screws up."

Then Phil launched into more detail than John was prepared to handle about their boss. Arrogant and petty and not afraid to make grown men cry – which was where Caitlin started to laugh and comment that he had never made her cry, and besides he always had a good reason.

"Tokay? Felps in botany? Those two Marines trying to fix the dvd player?" countered Erik.

"Most of the time he has a good reason," Caitlin conceded. "He's still the most brilliant person I've ever worked with – and if you tell him that I'll make sure your source of quality coffee dries up."

That was how John learned about the black market. When they went back to the lab, Caitlin even wrote down a few contacts for him, guarding the names from Phil and Erik who tried to wheedle them out of her; it took John a microt to realize that she was serious about selling the names for nothing less than lipstick and chocolate, that there were actual rules and decorum not unlike the trade that occurred at the markets of commerce planets. Well established from long use. And now John couldn't figure out if he owed Caitlin or if this was a gift.

"I'm not selling you my soul, am I?" he decided to ask.

Caitlin laughed and shook her head. "I should have done this a few days ago." Wrapped up in her smile was an apology that John accepted as easily as the slip of paper.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "I'm still getting used to all . . . this."

"It's pretty mind-blowing," she agreed. Her voice was colored in the soft tones of awe and her eyes flickered to the walls and ceiling and everything alien.

"Yeah," John agreed, staring instead at her.

* * *

The first time Radek met Crichton after the staff meeting, the man was throwing knives at a paper target on the wall. Specifically, at lines of equations written in a foreign script. The knives clattered loudly to the floor without a surface to stick into but the work was successfully shredded. Rodney was off on a mission and thus had not stopped. In fact, it had apparently been going on long enough for the three others to simply give him nervous looks at each loud noise. Radek swore dire vengeance on McKay for saddling him with a madman but gamely stepped forward and interrupted.

Crichton turned out to not mind. He also turned out to be quite interested in the puddlejumpers and equally adamant about not getting the gene therapy.

"Bad experiences," he said with a shake of his head. "Although I did have a friend whose ship I could fly if he spit on my gloves."

"That would not work with the mental component," Radek managed after a moment of shocked disgust. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to fly a jumper, to take her up beyond the clouds and feel her hum beneath his fingertips, but it was not something that bothered him. It was more than enough to know how she worked, what quirks hid beneath the veneer of Ancient perfection that made each jumper unique.

Crichton asked many questions, wanting to know how much they understood and how much could be gotten out of the engines. He especially liked the cloak and shield conversion, and was intrigued by the substitution of battery power for fuel. His grasp of zero point energy showed he'd been speaking with his lab mates but that his grasp on the details was tenuous at best – a normal situation for those newly arrived to Atlantis.

They ended up in the pilot and copilot chairs, talk of engines winding back to the first one either of them built – both cars, Radek's to find out what it was like to have auto transportation, Crichton's to have the baddest ride in town. Crichton kicked up his feet onto the DHD as he told the story of the first through eight times he broke down after he'd finished, once involving a girl, the stick shift, caught hair, and a very embarrassing encounter with the state trooper that had Radek's sides hurting from the laughter.

By the time they were kicked out of the jumper by a Marine and the Athosian trading team, Radek didn't think twice about inviting Crichton along to Friday Moonshine at the end of the day. He didn't even think it strange when Crichton actually showed up, much to the astonishment of everyone else.

The room in fact went silent and embarrassingly loud again when Radek greeted the man easily with a casual "There you are!" and then proceeded to introduce him around. It reminded him of his first job overseas as a guest of Georgia Tech for a term. His English had been atrociously bad and he'd felt all sorts of out of place until an event much like this had welcomed him into the fold. Meeting people face to face was the best way to ensure that people would talk to you later.

Crichton was a little hesitant at first, but quickly sucked it up and relaxed, although his eyes constantly check to make sure that Radek wasn't abandoning him anywhere. That lasted until he spoke with Dr. Laurie Coget, a chemist, who was working on native pharmaceuticals from a few of their trading partners. Almost as soon as she mentioned brain chemistry, Crichton was hooked. Radek smiled as he let Maneesh Patel drag him off to ask who he was betting on in the next chess tournament.

* * *

The first time John thought about sex since his arrival in Atlantis, he stopped, startled. It wasn't exactly that he'd never thought about sex, it was that this was the first time it came up in the light of day outside of his fantasies of Aeryn. With another woman who was smart and funny, blond and green eyed, and had grown up in the South and got why ice tea had to be sweet. Between one microt and the next, they were suddenly flirting, and Laurie was beautiful in a way he hadn't noticed at first through her blue uniform shirt.

It was like slipping on an old coat John had forgotten all about, a mask that said the right things, smiled and charmed and thought, I could get laid tonight.

_And what mask will she wear when you look at her? _

John barely noticed the question as his mind of its own accord noticed the light reflecting brightly off her hair, the easy smile, the accent of his own language, charm and grace and brilliance that added up all wrong despite how much he told himself that it would be easy. No strings, just another body to hold and touch, be touched by in return. Laurie was good people.

"It gets so warm the humidity reminds me of home," she was saying. "All you need is the crickets chirping, instead of the waves. When I sit on my balcony I can't get over how beautiful it is here."

"It is beautiful," John responded, catching her eye.

He got the chance to see her view for himself and how the moon reflected off the water. Her quarters were low enough to hear the waves, like she said, a soft soothing background like a forgotten tune, slightly off key. Darkness reduced sight to touch – soft, searing, a reflection of hot breath and cool fingertips. John sank into the offered oblivion, locking up Harvey and his heart, out of sight, out of mind. When gasps settled into sleep-even breathing, John watched Aeryn play with her child on the beach.

_You will never see them again, you know? Harvey put on his shades and offered John the spare pair. But you're safer now. A whole military protecting you instead of hunting you. Real beaches. Space to work on wormholes, excellent pudding, and humans who understand you._

_John threw him a look and Harvey shrugged. As much as anyone besides me can, at any rate.  
_

You don't know me as well as you think, then, said John.

The room was still dark when he opened his eyes. Lightly, he shook Laurie's shoulder until she mumbled sleepily, twisting toward him under the covers. John leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Hey, I've gotta go," he said softly.

Laurie's eyes flickered open. "Stay," she breathed.

"No, I gotta go," John repeated. "Thank you." Laurie squeezed his hand as he rose and watched for a moment as he got dressed. John smiled at her as best he could, but didn't know if she saw it in the dark.

* * *

**Bone**

Teyla hadn't seen Crichton much since his official joining of the expedition. She had shared a few meals with him and Ronon, but even that had dried up since their mission a week ago. Ronon wasn't even able to spend much time with the former Runner who instead she heard of from Rodney.

"He practically moved into his corner and his papers are _everywhere_. It's like a damned snowstorm," Rodney waved his free hand frantically in a circle.

"Didn't you gave him a laptop," said John with a frown over his eggs.

"He uses it to play Tchaikovsky." Rodney clearly didn't think much of it, music, Teyla gathered when he added, "When I told him shut it off, he started singing."

"He any good?" asked Ronon.

"No, but it at least gave me time to hack into his computer and set up a playlist with more variety than the greatest hits of the nineteenth century."

"I thought you liked classical music," said John.

Rodney gave him a withering look. "How would you like me to pipe the _1812 Overture_ into your quarters for twelve hours straight?" Teyla winced in sympathy with the others at that prospect.

Still, Teyla worried at the news. In his first few days, Crichton had not struck her as one to hole up in the labs as the scientists were prone to do. He always came to meals, but she had not seen him once in the mess in the past few days. Ronon said he did not join him at breakfast either.

"He hasn't been in his quarters," Ronon had shrugged stiffly, avoiding her eyes. "I went by the labs but he was really into what he was doing and didn't want to talk."

Rodney's glee at his productivity was apparent to anyone, annoying tendencies notwithstanding, and from the scientists, Teyla would not think much of it. However, not speaking to Ronon spoke of deeper troubles.

Crichton was in his corner of the lab when she stepped into the doorway, instrumental music indeed playing on his laptop. It was well after dinner and the others had already left, leaving Crichton staring at his work that was taped onto the wall. He didn't jump when she quietly came up beside him, his eyes flickering to her in the barest acknowledgement of her presence.

"I brought you dinner," Teyla said, setting the tray down on his desk that was similarly covered in writing she could not read.

"Thanks." Crichton didn't move. His shirt was wrinkled and the beginning of a beard was bristling his throat and cheeks.

"You have not been to the mess in many days."

"Nope."

The silence stretched but he did not elaborate.

"Ronon says he has not seen you either."

"Been busy."

Teyla restrained the sigh that threatened. It was like dealing with an adolescent. Or John Sheppard at his most stubborn and here she did not even have the chance to beat it out of him later. She was about to try again when Crichton surprised her by speaking first.

"That's wrong," he said, muttered really in irritation.

"What –"

He stretched his arms to point at two symbols separated by his wingspan.

"Crichton?" she asked tentatively.

He finally turned to her. "Right. Sorry. I had to, uh…" he waved his hand vaguely at the equations now behind him. Blinking slowly, he frowned at her. "What's up?"

"I brought you dinner," said Teyla slowly, even more concerned now than she had been before. It was as if the last five minutes had not happened. Even the way he stood had changed.

"Yeah, thanks." Crichton looked at it and smiled but made no move to eat, his eyes instead drifting back to his work, becoming disengaged once more, and unlike with Rodney, Teyla did not know how to shake him of it.

"Crichton," she said louder. "John." He turned again and focused on her. "Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah." He smiled again but again it did not reach his eyes. "As much as normal, anyway," he blinked and suddenly was back in the room with her. "I'm okay," he said. "I just need…" He looked back at his work, roving over its totality, a path to his past, his other Earth, his home.

Teyla understood the longing. She also understood that he was going to lose himself in his work.

"I am going to visit my people on the Mainland tomorrow," she said. "I would be honored if you would join me."

"I –"

"You need to get out of this lab," she interrupted before he could refuse. Crichton proved himself a smart man by closing his lips on further protest. Pleased, Teyla smiled in relief and pushed the tray in his direction. This time he took the hint and ate.

* * *

The sun was bright and felt more real when he was standing on dirt and scrub. John turned his face up to feel the warmth on his skin, shocked at how long it had been since the last time he'd been on land, when he'd walked through the circle thing from being a Runner to Atlantis, almost three weeks ago now. It felt like a lifetime.

Teyla's village was lively and as different from Atlantis as any third world country from the first. It felt familiar however, like sliding on his real skin over the familiarity he felt in the city. Teyla had introduced him as a former Runner to her people, a title that was greeted with respect and a little awe, especially from the kids who peppered him with questions about eating bugs and hunting Wraith before being shooed off. There was no pressure to talk, no questions about where he was from, no heavy stares, simply an offering of tea and a seat by the fire as Teyla caught them up on news from the city and they caught her up on news of the village.

John tuned it out, still unfamiliar with Atlantis goings on and knowing nothing of the Athosians, instead letting the wash of voices and sunshine ease his headache. He'd slipped away easily enough a little while ago, followed only by soft smiles. It was a beautiful day, early spring and flowers were just beginning to blossom on naked branches. John wandered a bit taking in the ovoid shaped tents and the nearby fields where many men still labored. He'd seen it on a hundred worlds but always from a distance, from the outside. Hope, struggle, survival.

_What wonderful people! Harvey let out a self-satisfied sigh to go with the sarcasm and the grandmotherly outfit. Industrious, adaptable, resilient, said Harvey. You come from such a hardy species. Remarkable.  
_

It surprises you? said John dryly.

They were the same things that had kept him alive in the past few cycles, after all. He ran his fingers over the hilts of Angelica and Whitney and missed the useless weight of Winona on his thigh. It was odd being considered – valued – as a scientist on Atlantis. Now that he'd made friends with his coworkers, it was as if he'd never felt the spurt of blood wash over his arm from slitting a Wraith throat. Never pointed a gun at someone's head and pulled the trigger.

_Surprised, perhaps not. Surprised you made it as far as you did alone.  
_

John shot him a look, Harvey once more in the black leather of his source, and wondered if he was cursed or lucky. Neither or both.

Solitude led to too many thoughts, too many conversations, and too many doubts until right and wrong and good and bad were fitted sideways together. In Atlantis, they were tilting back into a different pattern: human versus Wraith, ingenuity versus chaos, knowledge versus ignorance. Maybe it was the same struggle couched in different terms, but it felt like a world he'd forgotten how to live in, and standing here in this village only made it seem even more surreal.

"They really took the tracker out, right? You're not frelling with my mind?"

_Come John, you have always been adept at figuring these things out.  
_

Then why do I feel like I've time traveled back five years?

_Harvey turned to where the children were playing something that looked vaguely related to baseball. Do you? _

John watched the biggest boy toss the ball gently to the smallest, who chased after it on the bounce, hitting it on the second try. Two other boys rushed to chase the ball while the batter ran straight to the other end of the park where his teammates were yelling for him.

He didn't have an answer for Harvey.

Do you think there's still hope?

_I think you're obsessed.  
_

And what, I'm gonna drive myself crazy?

_ Harvey turned his face up to the sun and smiled. As you keep insisting, you are already crazy. Have been for cycles. Crazy enough to do crazy things.  
_

Suicidal, you mean.

_ Desperate. Harvey dropped his head and looked at him with his stone cold blue eyes until John had to look away, unnerved.  
_

* * *

The first thing Carson noticed was Teyla's charred sleeve and the mottled, raw flesh beneath it. Second, possibly third degree burns with a high risk for infection. The arm hung stiffly at her side, the other thrown over Ronon's shoulder has he helped her limp to the gurney. A quick glance showed that he was had suffered only a few tears in his jacket, but nothing gushing or gaping.

Carson didn't waste time on the second thing he noticed, instead leaving that to Dr. Weir while he got his patient to the infirmary and started on antibiotics.

By the time he'd finished treating Teyla's burns and had her resting as comfortably as possible, Ronon was already trying to break out of the infirmary while fighting with Elizabeth about going back for the Colonel and Rodney.

"Ronon, you said yourself that you didn't know how many people they have guarding their temple," Elizabeth was saying in the face of one of Ronon's more obstinate expressions. "I am not prepared to send you alone where you are likely to get caught too."

"We're running out of time," Ronon snapped back. "They were being moved to more secure location which could be anywhere."

"All the more reason to not rush into this. Now they both have their transmitters. We will find them." Elizabeth held his gaze until Ronon gave an impatient and frustrated nod, his gaze landing on Carson as he spun away.

"Teyla's going to all right," said Carson when they both turned to him expectantly.

"How bad is it?" asked Ronon.

"Second and third degree burns on her arm and a scattered first degree burns on her torso, but I don't think I'll have to do a graft. We'll see how it is in a few days. She'll be off duty for at least six weeks."

"Thank you, Carson," said Elizabeth. "Once you get cleaned up," she said to Ronon, "we'll come up with a plan to get the others back."

She left then, leaving Ronon to get out, "Can I –" before Carson nodded and waved him through to see Teyla. He'd kick him out in a few minutes, but Carson knew better than to stand in his way. Normally it would have been all three of them. He couldn't help the worry that skidded down his spine at the thought of Rodney and John held prisoner offworld somewhere. Rarely did these situations end with nothing less than a week in the infirmary, and if there was one thing that Carson was getting tired of in this galaxy, it was seeing his friends hurt.

"Hey. Doc." Carson looked up from the paperwork he'd been staring at to find Crichton just inside the doorway. "I heard Teyla got hurt."

"Aye," Carson nodded. "She'll be fine in a few weeks. The Ronon's in with her now."

Crichton took his answer as an invitation to enter. "What happened?"

"Burns from a fire." He hadn't yet gotten the full story, but from what he'd gathered it was arson. "Colonel Sheppard and Rodney are still being held captive."

Crichton didn't flinch at the news, his face inscrutable, and not for the first time did Carson wonder what made the man tick. He hadn't even realized he and Teyla were friends, much less close enough that he would come visit her in the infirmary as soon as he heard the news.

"Can I see Teyla?" he asked. Carson nodded and led him to the back of the ward and held the curtain back. Teyla was out as Carson knew she would be given the medication she was on for the pain. Ronon straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the bedrail when they came in, looking younger than Carson had seen him in a long time.

"Hey," said Crichton quietly.

"Hey," Ronon replied.

Carson cast an eye over Teyla's vitals but nothing had changed in the past few minutes.

"You ok?" he heard Crichton ask. Ronon answered with a blown out breath and a rumbled reply that Carson couldn't hear.

"Ronon, Dr. Crichton," Carson interrupted. "Teyla needs her rest."

The two men nodded and with a last lingering look at their hurt friend, left quietly.

* * *

John's first reaction when Ronon asked him was 'Hell no.'

"Dr. Weir is never gonna let me go," he said taking two quick steps back.

"John, we only have four scientists that go off on first contact missions," said Ronon quickly. "McKay's the only engineer which is what we need if we're going to get past their defenses."

"I'm sure your military guys have explosives and more than enough know-how," John retorted. They were not stupid people who got sent to another freaking galaxy for a tour of duty.

"Past their defenses quietly and without blowing up something that won't kill us by accident." Ronon crossed his arms impatiently and huffed in exactly the way John felt about this too, trying to wrap his head around going back out there and already knowing he would. "Look, Zelenka said you know your way around the machines well enough, and you can fight which is one less thing I have to worry about."

John closed his eyes and looked away. He could imagine Radek or Erik or Caitlin volunteering; they were brave, smart souls who would step up if they were asked because this was Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay and no one got left behind. The thing was, they should never have to be asked. Once upon a time, John shouldn't have been asked.

_But now the name's Crichton, John Crichton.  
_

Shut up. And that's not even funny.

Ronon was angry and like D'argo got angry, hiding his worry in his anger. For all that John didn't really know McKay and Sheppard, they were Ronon's friends, trapped in a foreign place. "When are we leaving?" he asked.

Ronon's smile was terse and full of gratitude as he clapped John on the shoulder. "Twenty minutes. I'll bring your gear to the gate room."

Twenty minutes later John watched the circle thing, the stargate, as lights danced around its edges. He was back in the clothes he wore as a Runner only with a nine millimeter pistol strapped to his thigh instead of Winona. Ronon had offered him a tac vest like the ones the four Marines wore behind them, but John couldn't fathom moving in it. He had a few tools tucked into extra sheaths at his belt beside Angelica and Whitney, and a voltmeter and hand held computer in his jacket pockets. If he needed more than that on any door they came to, he probably wouldn't be able to figure it out.

John could feel the sneeze begin to burn in his nose.

"You ready?" Ronon came to a rest beside him.

"Yep," John replied. He was. Like riding a bike. Get in, get out, stay alive in the process. He sneezed.

* * *

Shouting and threats preceded the heavy banging on his cell door that had John on his feet and ready for the rescue. He'd been here eight hours too long, seven of them alone after Rodney's removal by the priesthood to a site no doubt filled with Ancient technology in the guise of most holy objects.

"In here!" he called in answer to his name.

The cell he was in was part of the Ancient complex that had brought them to this planet in the first place. Unfortunately, the planet also hosted a priesthood of ATA carrying monks who knew just enough to make escape difficult by, for instance, turning off the power to this section once the door was locked.

John waited for the explosion of C4 and was surprised when it didn't come and didn't come. He heard muffled words but couldn't make them out even to tell who was there. Ronon and Teyla hopefully, if they made it out of the fire intact, and no doubt a squad of Marines. As the door slowly slid open, he revised that to add one of the engineers to the group, but couldn't think who Lorne and Ronon would allow to come on a SAR.

"Sheppard!" Ronon greeted him. "Where's McKay?"

"I don't know," said John looking around. Two monks were out cold on the floor, hands zip tied and Sergeants Matinas and Lode in their place. Lieutenant Williams and Sergeant Eams covered the other entrance. Crichton, of all people, was disconnecting his PDA from the door panel.

"Sheppard. Good to see you in one piece." Crichton's eyes raked over him from head to toe.

"What are you doing here?" John asked before he could stop himself. Ronon slapped a sidearm into his hands, and Crichton shrugged as he stood.

"Ronon asked me to come." The PDA and leads disappeared into the pocket of his old coat. "I've always been a sucker for helping people escape prisons." He had an odd smile on his face but didn't elaborate, and honestly John didn't really expect him to, nor did he have the time to be interested. Instead he turned to Ronon to get the sitrep.

An outraged Elder had welcomed them at the gate, and a young monk had wet his pants and given them John's location. The monks weren't very combative, but did their best anyway in the name of the Ancestors and their zealot leader. They had certainly escaped from worse places. "Let's find ourselves another monk then," he said when they were ready to move out.

Ronon took point with Matinas and Lode just behind him. John and Crichton were sandwiched in the middle with Williams and Eams taking their six. As used to compartmentalizing as he was during missions, John couldn't help but be distracted by the man beside him. Ronon had asked Crichton to come, yeah, but this was the man who walked away from a fight because he had better things to do. Every time John had seen him in Rodney's lab, he'd been eyeball deep in the wormhole stuff he was working on, like any other scientist in the department, finding meaning and passionate love for the work they did. He was done with adventure and danger and had made that perfectly clear. Yet here he was.

"John," Ronon said quietly from the front. The use of his first name startled him until he realized that Ronon was calling for Crichton and not him. A locked door barred their path and as John watched Crichton fiddle with the door panel and the battery pack from his PDA, he had a fleeting thought at how easily he managed the unfamiliar crystals but quickly shunted it aside because the door was opening and there were monks on the other side.

The fight wasn't really a fight. Ronon nailed the one of the off-guard monks with a stun blast, and immediately stepped in and disarmed the second of his wooden staff, spinning him into a headlock John knew from experience wasn't going to let him turn his head for a week.

"Where's McKay?" Ronon growled into his ear.

The monk didn't know but he did know where all the cool gadgets were, which was Rodney's likely destination. A solid blow to the head and they were on their way again.

"So I get that McKay's smart," said Crichton unexpectedly as they fell back into their marching order. "He's also an asshole second to one and I just can't see why they would want to keep him."

John gave him a sideways glance, hearing Rodney's voice in his head shouting that of course they would want to keep him for his sheer genius and what they could learn from him. Crichton did have a point. "Guess they think what he can do with all this is worth the discomfort," he said, nodding at the walls.

"Let's hope so," said Crichton. "Hope they don't get creative about keeping him in line."

"They'll regret it if they do," said John darkly, his mind going back to storms and a jagged scar. That was not happening again.

"So how did you get to be such good friends anyway?"

If there was one thing John had not expected Crichton to be, it was chatty. His voice was pitched at a naturally gravelly low, and he kept his eyes on their surroundings, but when John didn't reply right away he went right on rambling about a friend of his who he hadn't understood in any way, shape, or form when they met or for a good while after that. John gave him a sideways look knowing just how Crichton must have felt.

Five monks turned the corner and he completely switched modes as Ronon and the two sergeants up front took care of them as quickly and quietly as they could. Crichton, John was pleased to see, shut up and pulled his sidearm, but didn't shoot. He held the weapon like a pro, double handed, pointed slightly down with no shakes or sign of hesitation.

A good thing too, since those monks turned out to be the prelude to the main event held in a large hall whose door slid obligingly open and John's approach. Inside every other monk in the temple stood in orderly circles around a control chair containing one, loudly ranting Rodney McKay.

John cleared his throat as they fanned out across the wall of the doorway, unnoticed so far, giving them time to survey the situation. They had the superior weaponry but the last thing John wanted was a massacre. "Excuse me!" he called out, and a moment later, every eye in the room was on them.

There was a startled cry from the closest monks, dismay and fear that they had breached the sanctuary. Ronon stunned two of them, but it didn't stop the others who came rushing at them with their staves. John fired at the floor, hoping the ricochet wouldn't kill too many of them as it stopped them in their tracks. Wide, young eyes stared at them conflicted with the need to defend their temple. John locked eyes with the monk in charge who stood behind the chair.

"We just want McKay," John pitched his voice to carry.

"He is the Ancestor Reborn!" the monk proclaimed. "You cannot take him from us!"

A shot rang out suddenly, knocking the monk back, a glimpse of red on his chest as all the monks turned to look, confusion giving way to stark fear even has John yelled at his men to hold their fire. Time slowed down. A dangerous silence fell in the next second, overriding the litany of swearing going through John's mind at how bad, bad, bad this was for their getting out of here without a high body count. He had a heartbeat, maybe two before that fear turned to violence.

"Who wants to say 'no' next?" The speaker was Crichton, whipping his pistol from the chair to a nearby monk twenty feet away. "You?" he said soft and deadly. "You?" he swung his aim to another monk who made the mistake of twitching. John stared as mesmerized as the monks as Crichton walked forward slowly. They parted before him as he kept up a running commentary, calm and collected and utterly crazy.

"All we wanted was our friend back. You thought we wouldn't come for him? Did your mother not teach that it's not nice to steal? Some places they cut your hand off for that. Should I cut off your hand?" he said directly to a kid beside him, one of his knives appearing in his hand. He was near the dais, and John recovered himself enough to hiss at Ronon and Matinas to follow.

The monks made no move to hurt them and allowed them to join Crichton and untie McKay from the chair. For once Rodney had the sense not to make a fuss until he was safely at John's side.

"What the hell is he doing here? He could have gotten me killed!"

"What, no kiss for me for saving your ass?" Crichton said from behind him, his voice back to normal as if he hadn't just stopped a mob from forming by insanity alone.

They were safely out in the hallway now, the monks imploding on each other in the wake of losing both their leader and savior. Rodney rounded on Crichton.

"You could have missed him and shot me! Not to mention the fact that they were about to rip you to shreds with their bare hands."

"McKay, you're overlooking the tiny fact that they didn't," Crichton gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of dire hypothetical situations that hadn't happened. "My way we didn't have to kill them all."

"Your way could have ended in disaster," Rodney retorted, and John agreed and was actually surprised that it hadn't. In fact, he was still surprised that Crichton had done it at all. The man rolled his eyes at Rodney and moved to the front to join Ronon. John couldn't hear what they said to each other beyond the grin Ronon gave him and the shrug and chuckle Crichton returned. He was a strange one and not at all what John had expected upon seeing him open his cell door.

Beside him Rodney grumbled as they made their way out of the Ancient building and back to the stargate without incident. John put away the headache called Crichton and bickered back out of habit, glad to have his friend back, whatever the circumstances.

* * *

Stepping back into Atlantis felt like laying down a burden that John hadn't known he'd been carrying. Elizabeth met them with them the same relief lighting her face at seeing Sheppard and McKay returned safe and whole.

"Welcome back," she said.

They were ushered off to the infirmary for a quick checkup, after which Ronon and his team and John went to see Teyla who was awake. Sheppard and McKay claimed the spots closest to her bed first since they had been the ones taken, reassuring her that they were safely returned. Sheppard made a few bad jokes and the Shroom whined about being kidnapped again, both of which made Teyla smile.

"And you led the rescue," Teyla turned her eyes to Ronon who smiled and nodded.

"Got this lump to come with us too," Ronon elbowed John lightly in the ribs. John felt the eyes of the other two, uncertain of him after his little stunt. Honestly, John hadn't planned to shoot the guy in the head. He just couldn't stop seeing another chair where McKay had been tied.

_And Scorpius.  
_

John wouldn't wish that on anybody.

"Hey, Teyla."

"Thank you."

"You're thanking him?" McKay spluttered, which of course led to him telling Teyla about what happened with Ronon correcting him and Sheppard giving John funny looks like he wanted to say something but was holding back because it wasn't in private.

John understood that he didn't fit neatly into the box labeled 'scientist', or the box defined by Ronon for 'Runner'. He just couldn't find it in him to care because he really wasn't one or the other or anything else they came up with. He didn't regret going or killing the monk or winging it to keep the other monks scared and frozen and not killing the rescuers, or prompting the bloodbath that would have followed the attempt. Sometimes it was nice when things worked out.

Teyla seemed to agree when she laughed at McKay's outrage. "Rodney," she said, "he is not the only one who has stepped into to certain death for a friend and walked out of it alive. Or is your memory shorter than you claim?"

McKay dissolved into spluttering as his teammates ribbed him about walking into energy creatures and other stories that soon had Beckett rushing in to see what all the noise was.

They were shooed out, leaving Teyla smiling. "Dinner?" Ronon smacked John's shoulder to get his attention. It was easy and comfortable, like any other day when Ronon had come after him on his way to the mess. They hadn't done that much in the last week, and John was surprised to find that he'd missed it.

Sheppard and McKay went off to shower with promises to catch up later so it was just the two of them walking through the halls. "McKay's grateful, you know?" Ronon said suddenly. "He just doesn't want you to know."

Ronon's obvious affection made John smile. "He's still a bastard." Ronon didn't disagree but he did grin in a way that spoke of an aggravating friendship that he wouldn't want ended.

"You surprised Sheppard."

John tilted his head considering. "For going or killing?"

"Both." Ronon gave him another sly grin. "You got his attention. He's gonna want you on an offworld team now.

"No way," John snorted at the thought. Going off on the rescue had been good for him, had gotten him away from the wormholes that had absorbed his attention. Calmed him from some of the frenetic energy that had been driving him forward, away. It was like . . . finding his body again after a hike in the ether and putting his mind back where it belonged. Reminded him he was more than the reflection everyone else here saw.

But John didn't see himself repeating it. He wasn't an adrenaline junkie and he certainly didn't need people trying to kill him on a daily basis. He didn't need to be killing people on a daily basis.

_Don't tell me you're afraid of yourself? _

No. Just tired of destroying things.

He and Ronon reached the mess and were waved over by Radek, Caitlin, and Erik when they had their trays loaded. "We hear you did many heroic things today," said Radek. "I overheard the Marines say you had balls of steel."

"Craziest thing I ever saw," offered Ronon.

"You're okay, right?" asked Caitlin. "I know you were a Runner. . ."

"I'm okay," John reassured her, touched by her concern.

"Good, good. So the Marines also said there was a control chair?" said Erik with hesitant eagerness. "If you don't want to talk about the mission. . . but was it functional?"

"I'm fine, really," John huffed a laugh. "And yes, it was functional."

As the discussion took off about power distributions and the cult of the Ancestors mixed with the details of mob psychology and overwhelming odds, John felt for the first time that maybe here in Pegasus, full of terrible and wonderful things, the humans understood enough. And maybe here he could find some sort of peace.

* * *


End file.
